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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24866353">pour like the rain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyfire/pseuds/shinyfire'>shinyfire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>pour like the rain [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera &amp; Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erik has terrible ideas, Falling In Love, Horses, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Men Crying, Mental Health Issues, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pharoga - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:09:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>73,270</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24866353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyfire/pseuds/shinyfire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the winter of 1852 and Erik is beginning to unravel.<br/>Or: How Nadir saves Erik from himself.</p><p>(Very) loosely based on Kay's book; Erik was rescued by Professor Guizot when the fair he in which he was imprisoned passed through Paris. He bought him his freedom, both from the fair and from his mother, and brought him up, educating him as they travelled around Europe. </p><p>But the effects of being abused as a child and then displayed as a freak are long-lasting.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Nadir Khan, Erik | Phantom of the Opera/The Persian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>pour like the rain [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023814</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Rafael</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Erik had been woken by a thumping that was growing louder and more insistent with each passing moment. It made a change from the ‘thumping’ that usually came from the room next to his. Any minute now she’d start calling his name. Bloody woman. Was it worse to lie here and have to listen to her screeching or force himself to get up to try and send her away? He drew his hand roughly across his face and dragged himself up and out of bed tying on his mask as navigated his way to the door.</p><p>He drew back the bolt, opened the door and leaned heavily against the doorframe, “Madame Hervé, what a great pleasure it is to receive you at such an hour.“</p><p>“Christ alive, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! When did you put a bolt on! It’s not allowed!” She pushed her finger into the striking plate as if to pull it off. “You’ve got a note. I’m told it is urgent – .“ She thrust it at him.</p><p>“Why didn’t you push it under the door?”</p><p>“It’s <em>urgent</em>, my dear. I know you and your habits. I wanted to be sure you were awake. I wanted to be sure you read it.“ She attempted to peer past him into his darkened room. “What have you got in there? What are you making – ?“</p><p>He shut the door, drawing across the bolt. No, Madame Hervé, I am not going to stand here and talk to you in my nightshirt while you try to stick your nose into my affairs. He heard her stomp away down the corridor, still shrieking. He went to the window, pulled it open and pushed the shutter a crack to let some light in: <em>Come to the office immediately. Good news.</em> Sighing, he raked his hands through his hair. What good news could there possibly be for him? A wave of nausea and light-headedness washed over him thanks to the extravagant amount of laudanum he’d taken in the early hours of the morning in a desperate attempt to sleep. It had worked, of course it had, but now – now, he needed it to stop working. <em>Don’t faint, you idiot.</em></p><p>He dropped back down on his messy bed, threw off his mask and looked at the note beside him. Maybe he’d mistaken its message; <em>come to the office whenever you want, there’s nothing here of interest to you.</em> He put his head his in hands and shut his eyes, the weird contours of his face yet again an afront to all that was fucking decent in this world. He pushed his fingernails hard into his skin to stop the crawling sleep from overwhelming him again, but the pain was not enough and he allowed himself to be pulled back under. Minutes passed, or hours, he couldn’t tell and he woke with a gasp, head still in hands - stupid fool; lazy, weak, pathetic.</p><p>He leapt up, seized by sudden frantic energy, washed in cold water and dressed quickly, attempting to scrape his hair into something resembling respectable. The thought of the barber had been too much recently and his wild hair was becoming yet another shameful witness to his failure.</p><p>The walk from his lodgings in Montparnasse to the offices of the architectural practice where he was articled took about an hour. Erik considered getting a carriage but decided the walk would help to clear his head, and besides, it was a cold day – a good excuse to wrap a scarf high around his masked face and pull his hat down low; this would surely be enough to shield him from the curious and the actively aggressive. The labyrinthine streets of Paris were a gift to anyone wanting to evade the notice of others, and Erik had become adept at making his way through the teeming crowds largely unnoticed.</p><p>However, walking to the office during the mid-morning was rare for him these days and he kept unsocial hours to avoid doing exactly that. As ghost-like as he could make himself, he still felt constant threat of unwanted and unpleasant attention, and walking had the additional <em>pleasant benefit</em> of providing the time and space for his mind to fully unleash its bile upon himself - and upon everyone he passed.</p><p>Despite the promised good news, this morning’s walking efforts turned out to be no different.</p><p>As he’d expected the numbing effect of the opium was diminishing and he found himself recalling one of the first times he’d chosen to walk through the city to the practice. It had been an overcast day, similar to today, and ten minutes before he’d arrived, he’d attracted the attention of a small crowd of boys, who swarmed around him, calling and shouting to each other, making excited commentaries on this strange specimen they’d discovered. The crowd had grown in numbers and become angry and aggressive as a group of men joined, and he had had to run up the steps at the practice building. The door had mercifully been open and a colleague coming out had quickly realised the awful situation and pulled Erik inside, locking the door behind them, pushing Erik through into the next room away from the windows of the hall. Erik had instantly turned away to face the wall, hot tears of rage and shame forcing him to remove his mask. He’d rubbed his face roughly, squeezing his eyes tightly in attempt to control himself, but instead found that he’d had bite his hand to stifle a <em>fucking sob</em> that wracked his shoulders. A fresh wave of misery had washed over him for having unmanned himself so completely by crying like this, and so soon after he’d started there. His colleague had placed a hand on his arm, and Erik, lost to all politesse, had all but shouted “<em>don’t touch me</em>!” flooded by memories of the cage, and the crowds and the fear. It had been a long time before Erik had dared to walk anywhere in the daylight again.</p><p>By now he had reached Pont St-Michel and he stopped at its apex to look over into the river to try to catch his breath and slow the rush of images in his horrible mind, all entirely unrelated to what was going on around him. But he found no peace there and was compelled to consider jumping. And what if he didn't manage to drown? There could be no worse failure than a failure at suicide, surely? He dragged himself away in disgust and continued to walk.</p><p>When at last he arrived at the practice of D.L. Giradin, he was so caught up in his horrid memories that he struggled to find the words to return the greeting from the clerk at the door. His coat and scarf were suddenly heavy in the heat of the building and as he climbed the stairs, a drip of sweat ran down his back, his heart hammering with exertion and the anxiety of the walk. Oh, for another dose of laudanum now.</p><p>Erik was greeted by Giradin himself, smiling broadly and beckoning Erik to join him at the top of the room. Giradin was a tall, thin man about ten years older than Erik, whose shirts quickly became untucked and who moved quickly, and who was known for his hectic enthusiasm and willingness to take risks with the complexity and technicalities of his designs – and with his apprentices.</p><p>The entire company of draughtsmen and apprentices had gathered, apparently awaiting his arrival and for the announcement of the <em>good news</em>. Erik struggled against old desire to shut his eyes at the onslaught of being observed so intensely, but instead managed to cast his gaze down to the floor, and leant against the wall, attempting to find some reassurance in its solidity.</p><p>“Now we have finally been joined by our elusive friend Monsieur Renouf - it looks like he's actually dragged himself here! - I can let you all know that we – well, <em>Erik</em> actually – has won the Mazanderani contract and what’s even better –“ he slapped Erik’s arm with glee, “we were competing against that bastard, Pelletier! Er - ” he laughed, looking at Erik, “ – but I won’t ask you to make a speech…”</p><p>Giradin started to applaud and the rest of the room joined him. Erik screwed his eyes tight shut in horror only to be confronted with the sight of rough iron bars. He gasped, just as Giradin stepped in front of him, clasped him by the shoulders and said “For God’s sake man! Don’t be so miserable. This is brilliant. <em>You</em> are brilliant.”</p><p>Erik shrugged his shoulders to release himself from Giradin’s grip, jerked his head back hard against the wall to shake the memory away. He forced himself to look at the other man. “Yes. Thank you for the <em>applause</em>, for your words. But I expected to win. Didn’t you? I don’t know why you are so surprised. It’s all the rest of this – “ he gestured to the room beyond them, “ - that I hate. All of it.“</p><p>Giradin laughed again, “Erik, you’re an arrogant, anti-social, sod. You really are. But for all your inventiveness, you need me just as much as I need you. Stay here for another two or three more years, and then you can go and hole yourself up somewhere with only your drawing board for company. God knows it must be grim for you with your – your face – and all. But really, <em>really</em>, you must know that we are on your side! Now - stop complaining and get to work.”</p><p>Erik stared at him in something approaching awe and for the first time in several days he felt as if the storm inside of him had quelled for a few brief and precious moments, and he experienced strange peace for once achieved neither with opium nor alcohol. He exhaled deeply, suddenly aware that he’d been holding his breath. Giradin was right. He was a successful architect. There were no cages. No one was now staring. Maybe it could be alright? Maybe.</p><p>His sense of peace lasted all day. He worked calmly, the murmur of voices around him was companionable rather than irritating, even finding within himself the confidence to occasionally contribute to their conversations, noticing with pleasure that they responded to him with interest and even solicitude. It was usual for him to remain silent while he worked, only speaking when spoken to and then only on matters of construction or engineering or design. He was vaguely aware that his silence was perceived as cold and aloof – Guizot had tried to school him over the years in the social graces but Erik had never desired friends beyond Guizot himself and the odd collection of animals he’d kept during his teenage years.</p><p>And now there was the awful Rafael. Lord knows, he provided Erik with enough in the way of ‘sociable’.</p>
<hr/><p>He left the practice well into the evening and made his way to the bar where he and Rafael met on a Friday. They had chosen the place for its unpopularity and its dinginess. They were known there and the owners appeared to tolerate others of their type. They served rough wine, terrible food and took their money eagerly.</p><p>Erik seated himself at a sticky table with his back to the door. He was brought a bottle of murky red wine. He poured a large glass and drank it quickly, the desire to numb the sharp effort of being in close proximity to so many others outweighing the need for vigilance. And anway, the regulars at this place paid little attention to him, interested in little else save seeing to the bottom of their glass. Rafael, late now, such as his timekeeping was – he was rarely on time for Erik, was nowhere to be seen. Erik poured more wine and as he drank came a vague thought that he had not eaten a thing since early the day before. Ah, shit. He finished this glass and heaved himself over to the other chair against the wall where could lean back and watch the door, the wine doing nothing to soothe his fear about Rafael’s not turning up at all; it had happened several times before – there was never any reassurance it wouldn’t happen again. There was never any reassurance at all.</p><p>A third glass, and by the time he had finished it, Rafael arrived. Erik sat up. His thoughts had becomimg muddled and angry and he didn’t trust himself to speak. He was not a hardened drinker and this horrid stuff was strong.</p><p>“Sorry, sorry.” Rafael threw off his coat and hat. “Work! So busy – all the things, all the <em>Empire-y</em> things! Have you been here long?” Erik didn’t really believe his excuses, thought that most of the time he lied. Rafael peered closely at Erik, who instinctively turned away. “Are you drunk?”</p><p>Erik leaned forward, placing his bare forearms on the table. In the warmth of the place and with the wine he was down to his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. “Not yet”, he said carefully, “but I am tired. Waiting for you.” Rafael wasn’t listening, was waving for another glass. Erik ploughed on, slightly louder, “I won a contract, you know. It was a big contract, an important one. There was a competition. I knew I would win, but it was a surprise to them.”</p><p>Rafael turned and laughed suddenly. “You won a competition? What kind of competition was it? One for emaciated men in masks? – I think you're drunk!” He reached over and slapped Erik’s arm, hard. “Let’s get you something to eat.”</p><p>Erik leaned back against wall. “No - I don’t want anything to eat. I – I don’t like to -“</p><p>“Come now, don’t be so ridiculous. We’ve been through all this before,” and then in a loud whisper “I don’t want to think you’ll fall apart when I fuck you!” He laughed loudly again and went to the bar to order. Erik shut his eyes, head back against the wall. What he’d really would have liked was to have gone home, to his dark room, to crawl into his bed and to hope for oblivion.</p><p>The food came quickly, a plate each of steaming potatoes and dark meat slapped down on their table. Mouth full, Rafael poked his fork at Erik, “eat!”</p><p>Erik was overcome by a curious sensation of being a small child, in very similar battle about food with his mother. She never won, of course, but the feeling of being so suddenly reduced, so powerless, was as strong as ever and made his chest ache. He finished his glass, poured another and stared at Rafael who was talking, and eating as fast as a pig at a trough</p><p>Rafael finished his plate and reached for Erik’s, still untouched. “Fine. I’ll eat, you drink. Tell me about this competition you won.”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter. Giradin was positively ecstatic about it because he said I beat some rival of his. It is a private house for an exiled Persian. He wanted something <em>Beaux Arts</em>. Which I provided - with my own embellishments.” He smiled to himself at the thought of these embellishments, the trap-doors, the false walls, the secret rooms. It would be a vicious house, full of its own unfathomable rules; a house that could be used not only to shelter its inhabitants but also to confuse and torment them, an entire world unto itself, granting a god-like control to the one who could understand its nature. He would build a house like this, one day, for himself and the thought of it, and his cleverness, made his guts clench with joy.</p><p>Rafael finished the last of meat, leant back to make room for his stomach, looked at Erik as if for the first time and grinned, evidently amused. “Embellishments, eh? And you will oversee the building of this place? On a site? I can’t imagine you on a building site. What do the men think of the mask? They take orders from you?”</p><p>Erik huffed a laugh. “I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen. You don’t believe – you don’t believe I’m capable of anything - do you?” Ah god, he was drunk, and the anger was rising, “you are <em>laughing</em> at me!”</p><p>“No, no, of course I’m not. You’re a most unusual creature, Erik. The thought of you doing something as mundane and rough as commanding men on a building site seems quite - incongruous.” He placed his big hand gently on Erik’s forearm and smiled again, “Come on, let’s go.”</p><p>Erik looked down at his horrible sinewy arm, and Rafael’s hand. He felt quite sure he was being mocked but the slightest suggestion of tenderness was enough to dispel the rush of anger. He’d keep quiet, stuff it down within himself, anything to be rewarded with this.</p><p>Erik stood up clumsily and Rafael, all conciliation, helped him with his coat. He would have liked to have asked Rafael for his arm, to steady him, but he would not ask! Even in this state, his mind was a whip in its ability to torment. Down through the years he plunged again, and he was a small boy asking for his mother’s kiss. To ask and to be told no was infinitely worse than never to ask at all. Ah, he was a ridiculous man to be still thinking of this, pathetic and weak. He shook his head to rid himself of the memory of it and the shame of the stab of tears in his eyes, wound his scarf tightly about his neck and made his way, alone, to the door.</p><p>The cold air made his head spin wildly. Rafael, still talking, apparently to him, grabbed Erik's right arm and slung it round his shoulder. “My God, you’re a idiot”</p><p>They took a carriage to Rafael’s apartment and it did nothing to clear Erik’s head or lighten his mood. He did not want to go with Rafael and his incessant talking now, the evening’s promise of companionship had soured for him – and he always knew what Rafael wanted, what Rafael would do regardless. Since their first meeting Rafael had taken an almost prurient interest in him, and Erik, starved of company and immensely open to his flattery and the attentions of an older man, had allowed himself to think that he felt some kind of affection for him – but what did he know of any of that?</p><p>And now, at the foot of the stairs to Rafael’s rooms, he hesitated, mumbling that he ought really to go home. Rafael had gone ahead, laughing and calling back, “I’ve got something for you that I think you’d like – and besides it’s a long walk back.”</p><p>Yes – it was and maybe this time it would be different? Maybe. He ascended the stairs carefully and saw that Rafael had left the door to his place open, evidently expecting that Erik would be unable to resist his charms. Erik found him in the main room, seated by a small table with a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses. He gestured at Erik to sit on the chair opposite.</p><p>“Ah – I really don’t think I need any more – “</p><p>“Take off your coat, sit down – it’s Calvados! A good Norman boy like you was surely brought up on this stuff?” He poured Erik a glass. This was too much, far too much, but he did as he was told and he sat and he drank.</p>
<hr/><p>Erik woke in an empty bed, in a room full of light, the high windows of Rafael’s apartment unshielded from the pale winter sun. With the quiet and stillness he knew instinctively that the rest of the place was empty, too. His tongue was stuck to his mouth and his whole body ached – he was in a terrible desert and dying of thirst, despite the coldness of the air around him. He realised that he was entirely naked and a thought of himself as a newly hatched bird came horribly to mind – red and raw and monstrous.</p><p>He propped himself on one arm and felt around for his mask. Someone – Rafael – had placed it nearby and in it was note, another fucking note - something about having to work early and the location of bread and same place, same time next week. Erik sat, the contents of his head and his stomach still sloshing about, and realised, with a dull horror that his backside was painful. He remembered nothing much after he’d taken that first Calva – evidently the first of several - and now, with this fresh pain and with it the knowledge of what had been done to him, his mind became a silent white void.</p><p>He was brought to his senses sometime later – how much time had he lost? – by a nausea that turned to an intense need to vomit. He tumbled off the bed and scrabbled for the chamber pot, already half full of urine and coughed up his guts as he knelt on the bare floor. When there was nothing left he rested his head on the floor. Was there ever a more disgusting creature than he that had ever lived? He would not cry for himself – vile thing!</p><p>And the old familiar thoughts of death crept up, the ground beneath him opening up into an endless pit into which he could so easily fall and be lost forever. Fuck that horrible old priest and his lies - there was no god and there was no hell, there would be no punishment for this, only blessed release. There would be rope here somewhere, surely, and there was that majestic staircase just outside. It could be done quite efficiently, quite quickly. He shut his eyes and relished the speed at which it could all be over, the ease with which he could drop into the blackness. Or - <em>or</em> with the knife for the bread - his veins would likely bleed wine at this juncture – his death could be a mockery of the sacrament. At this he couldn’t help but give a nasty laugh, the stupidity of thinking of <em>bread knives</em> as a way of doing oneself in shaking him from his death-plans, and he struggled to his feet to find water. And that bread.</p><p>Acutely aware that he stank, he left Rafael’s apartment about an hour later, when he felt able to walk any distance. He stopped at the pharmacy at the end of the road and bought several bottles of laudanum. To his embarrassment the pharmacist asked outright what the mask was for – “syphilis!” – that would shut him up - and added for dramatic effect as he ran out of the shop, “and the laudanum is for the dysentery!” He got a carriage back to his own place and bolted the door to the world, and to himself.</p>
<hr/><p>The title is taken from the lyrics of a song called <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcI94hxvZsY">Some Riot</a> by Elbow</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Erik knows he does not have syphilis.<br/>Or dysentery. Quite the opposite, in fact.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Nadir</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>An early morning conversation with the irascible Madame Hervé confirmed that it was now Tuesday and he had only added to her irritation when he’d asked her to bring him food. He boiled some water and scrubbed himself clean and found a new shirt. He had told himself that the humiliations of Friday night were of no consequence; he had been with Rafael before and would, perhaps, have said yes to his advances this time - had he been asked; that he was too drunk to say no or to remember any of it at all was his own stupid fault. Relations with Rafael had always been difficult, right from the start, because of his many and gruesome physical shortcomings, and always had to be preceded by a large amount of alcohol on his part - but he could usually remember the encounter the following day. No matter. He would not think of it.</p><p>And he would tell them at the practice that he had not been in the previous day because he had been gravely ill – and indeed he had - utterly unable to get from his bed, for reasons that were entirely of his own doing. He wouldn’t tell them that of course. Perhaps they already knew that he was pathetically unable to cope with the world without dosing himself regularly with poppy juice; perhaps they all knew what he hid beneath the mask, perhaps they were all just… – he shook his head to rid himself of the little devil that spoke constantly to him; if he let himself follow his spiralling thoughts he might never leave his rooms again.</p><p>The confidence of last week had, therefore, quite gone and he chose to take a carriage to the practice. He hated to give in to his weakness, but the need to arrive at the practice without panic was now greater than his need to prove to himself that he could walk about in the day like any <em><em>normal</em></em> man. He was relieved to find that no one noticed him at all as he entered the office, and he was able to go to his drawing-board in silence.</p><p>Several uneventful days were passed in this quiet way. Erik worked diligently on their latest commission – a new railway station to the west of the city, a dizzying design of steel and glass – staying late into the night to work, long after everyone else had left, exhausting himself utterly, but managing, in this way, to avoid the need for laudanum. Or at least, large amounts of it. And only at night, well, maybe only once in the morning when he was feeling particularly and unexpectedly ill – the laudanum at that time having had an almost miraculous effect on his sense of well-being. He found time to write to Guizot to let him know about his success with the Mazanderani contract. Even his encounter with Rafael was remarkably uneventful – they spent only a couple of hours together on Friday evening before Rafael said he had to leave due to a ‘stomach-ache’. Erik had known he was lying again – he was content with a woozy midnight walk along the river and the sense of having escaped something rather unpleasant.</p><p>It had all changed the following week. He had arrived late at the practice and was immediately called into Giradin’s tiny office where a heated discussion with the contractor, Giradin, and two other men, who turned out to be Monsieur Mazanderani himself and his translator, was taking place.</p><p>They were studying his blueprints and the contractor’s shop-drawings, all of which were spread out over the desk and they all looked up expectantly as he entered the room. Giradin was looking more frantic than usual; “Erik – where have you been? You’re getting later and later! Monsieur Mazanderani, Monsieur Khan, Monsieur Aurand, this is Erik Renouf, the architect. Perhaps he can answer some of your questions!”</p><p>Erik felt his throat tighten. He had a horrible feeling he was about to be chastised like a small boy and he very nearly turned on his heels and ran from the room. What had he done wrong? What terrible mistake had he made? His stomach lurched and he found himself twisting his hands together. Giradin shut the door behind him and laughed, “and now you can’t escape!”</p><p>How did he read his mind? Erik was possessed by the need to jump out of the window, anything to get away from here, to run -</p><p>“Let me take your coat and hat – “. It seemed as if Giradin was actually about to start undressing him. The men at the desk were still watching. Erik took off his hat.</p><p>By a huge force of will, he swallowed down his panic and forced himself to speak clearly. “May I ask what the problem is?” He heard his voice, shamefully small, and approached the desk, feeling the sweat under his mask and on his hands, breathing too fast.</p><p>Aurand, the contractor spoke. "Your designs are too complex. They are unworkable. It is impossible to make drawings from them - "</p><p>“They are not ‘too complex’. It is a failure on your part to scrutinise them properly. My designs are eminently clear and what is more, if correctly constructed, they work perfectly.” Erik could feel the energy of his fear and shame transform into something else, for once turning outwards. He addressed to the translator, “My advice to Monsieur Mazanderani is to find another contractor who can actually do the job he's paid to do.” He made a little bow and went to leave.</p><p>Aurand, the contractor, was a large bald man, exactly the type that had so amused Rafael to think of Erik commanding on a building site. He was remarkably quick to anger and pushed past the translator and chested up to Erik. “Who the fuck do you think you are, you little shit? Your ideas are a nonsense!” And then to Giradin, “where did you dredge him up from and<em><em><em> what is with the mask</em></em></em>?”</p><p>Giradin, guessing that Erik was about to flee the scene had already blocked the door; for Erik, the events of the previous few moments were a match to the bone-dry tinderbox of his emotion and he felt himself engulfed in rage. Despite his lack of weapon he raised his hands lightning-quick to the man’s fat neck, to his windpipe, fingers in deep, gripping as strong as a vice.  Giradin shouted, “Monsieur Aurand, please calm down! Monsieur Renouf is here to explain his designs. Erik! Please! Get a hold of yourself!” What damage he could have done to this beast had he a knife in his left hand!</p><p>Giradin’s pleas were interrupted by a huge shout of laughter from Mazanderani, and both Erik and Aurand forgot their fight momentarily and turned to him in shock. Mazanderani clapped his hands and exclaimed something positively joyful in what Erik assumed was Farsi and the translator, eager to capitalise on the brief moment of calm, spoke quickly. “He is saying; ‘this is the most fun he has had since he arrived in this freezing and godforsaken land,’ and – “ pointedly, “he wishes to carry on with the business at hand immediately. He is paying you all good money not to fight like children in a schoolyard.”</p><p>Erik tried to catch his breath and - mercy of mercies – Aurand stepped away from him coughing, holding his throat, a look of disgust on his face. He struggled to think coherently; the door was still shut, he had still made a terrible, unforgivable mistake, he was still full of murderous rage and most shamefully, he was being betrayed by his shaking hands.</p><p>Giradin shouted, his voice full of anger, “Erik leave immediately and come back when you can behave reasonably!” He opened the door to the office and gestured dramatically for Erik to leave.</p><p>Was he about to be hit? Giradin was nowhere near him. Get a grip! He ran down the stairs all the way to the basement and found a little room that was used for storage and slammed the door shut. He put his hand in his coat pocket and grasped the small bottle that he’d brought with him. He hadn’t intended to take any of it, of course he hadn’t, but had earlier decided that the knowledge that it was there, in case it would be…helpful. And how right he was! He took a long gulp of the bitter stuff, took off the mask and dared himself to press his horrible forehead against the wall to feel its chill and to attempt to calm himself.</p><p>How close he’d come to throttling Aurand. He’d recently thought that he’d make a good killer - he snapped to self-violence at the slightest provocation, and now the rage was starting to turn outwards, to be inflicted on others. It would be so easy to wind him up like a terrible rage-machine and let him loose to stab and strangle and cut without thought and without mercy. He was little more than an animal – all of Guizot’s efforts with him over the years had come to nothing - he should have stayed locked up, he should be caged, he should…</p><p>"Erik!"</p><p><em>For fuck's sake</em>, Giradin could bellow; that man would be the death of him. Erik pressed his forehead harder into the wall in a strange attempt to push the rage and the fear from his body and eventually, tied the mask back on and made his way shakily back up the stairs.</p><p>Despite it all, Erik understood it was in his interests to get his exquisite work off these sheets and into three dimensions and if it meant working with this large buffoon Aurand for an hour or so, then so be it. Nothing was said of the almost-fight when he returned and they managed an uneasy truce. However, the ensuing four-way conversation, and yes, the complexity of the designs, resulted in a meeting that lasted several hours. They were brought coffee on a tray – in which Erik did not partake, wishing fervently that it was wine they had been offered.</p><p>Erik knew that he was an excellent teacher and the deep understanding he had of his work meant that he could explain the most detailed of his plans in such a way that made his listeners wonder why <em>all things</em> were not made in this way. By the time he’d finished Aurand had begun to re-draw his shop-drawings clearly and with ease, Monsieur Mazanderani was looking positively gleeful and Erik had started to answer the questions put to him by Mazanderani in Farsi, which evidently delighted the translator who had taken to flattering him on his pronunciation. And then the kicker came; the translator, an extremely tall and altogether handsome man, in Erik’s opinion, not that he had been looking – whose name Erik was oddly pleased to learn was <em><em><em>Nadir</em></em></em> – announced that they would all now be going out to lunch together. For some kind of celebration.</p><p>Erik sat back in his chair and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes and gave a short laugh. He thanked them for the kind invitation and told them he would not be joining them. Then he stood up, collected his things and went to leave. As he reached the door, Giradin arrived.</p><p>“Have you finished? Where are you going, Erik?” Giradin demanded.</p><p>“They are going to lunch and I am not going with them.”</p><p>“You’ve been invited?”</p><p>“Yes, but I am not going – “</p><p>Giradin looked over Erik’s shoulder, “Messieurs, excuse us for one moment.” And then pushed Erik out of the room.</p><p>Erik knew what was coming and at once he felt a hideous urge to collapse to the floor and beg Giradin not to make him go. He would not beg! Instead he made himself ramrod straight and refused to look Giradin in the eye.</p><p>“Erik, you absolutely, positively have to go with them to lunch.” Giradin’s voice was high and desperate. “This is a huge contract, <em>your</em> huge contract. It is simply <em><em><em>not done</em></em></em> for the architect to refuse to go to lunch with a client, especially one of this nature. Erik! I will pay you to go. I will – I will come with you, I – “</p><p>Erik looked at him, his fear merging into a kind of pity for the man before him, and he was, admittedly motivated by the idea of payment. “I will go, if you pay me. But I will not stay. And I will not eat.”</p><p>So it was that Erik found himself in the high ceilinged, highly mirrored, chandeliered restaurant of the Hotel de Ville. The whole place seemed to be made entirely of gold. In the past, travelling about Europe with Guziot, he would never have dared to have entered such a public place where the whole purpose of going was to be looked at and admired by others. In the early years, after the fair, he had been too frightened of people and crowds to go anywhere much at all without making a terrible scene, and as he grew older his habit of refusing to eat in company was never challenged by Guizot who was keen to keep the peace and not trouble him further, and thus he was always permitted to eat in private. Even in recent years, living alone, he would never have willing presented his bizarre self in such a place.</p><p>Today, however, was proving to be different; he had swallowed the last of the bottle of opium and it had added rather marvellously to the first dose he’d taken earlier, giving him a profound sense of, well, really not giving a shit about anything much at all. And, he was being paid to be here. And then there was the presence of Monsieur Khan to encourage him along. The first glass of wine added pleasantly to the opium and he sat back and listened to Giradin and Mazanderani talk in English with great animation about Paris and the many and various reasons for exile from Persia. But most of all he watched Khan – <em><em><em>Nadir</em></em></em> – in a way which he could only hope was not too appreciative; his open, expressive face, his thick dark hair, his easy laugh…Christ almighty… what was becoming of him?</p><p>The first course arrived with a flourish. “You are not joining us, Monsieur Renouf?” Nadir asked.</p><p>Erik shook his head.</p><p>“Won’t you be hungry?”</p><p>Ah, considerate as well as handsome. “I - I’ll have something later.”</p><p>Nadir smiled. “I thought perhaps you were concerned about being poisoned. In Persia, it is common for men of high rank to have a servant taste their food before they eat in case a rival has added something evil to it. Do you have many nefarious rivals?”</p><p>Handsome, considerate and possibly with a twinkle in his eye.</p><p>Erik smiled back. “I am in the process of acquiring a great many nefarious and <em><em>jealous</em></em> rivals – other architects in this city who like to think themselves esteemed and notable and eminent but who can’t bear it when I draw better and more beautiful designs, and beat them in their own little competitions. And – “</p><p>He stopped himself. What the fuck was he doing? He was acutely aware the propensity of his tongue to run away with him when he thought he had a person’s admiration – he had been about to make a ridiculous joke about how good-looking he was and how <em><em><em>particularly jealous</em></em></em> they all were of that – and Jesus Christ, where would that lead them?</p><p>Nadir, it seemed, was happy to go along with him, “and, I daresay, they are jealous of your youth. How old are you Monsieur Renouf? May I call you Erik?”</p><p>Erik swallowed. How old was he? Surely only small children get asked how old they are? Did this strange man think he was an actual child? He answered anyway, “I believe I am twenty-one. My dear mother did her best to forget the precise date of my birth, God bless her soul. And yes, you’re right, you are very perceptive, Nadir; they are jealous of my extreme talent and my extreme youth.”</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>“Talented, young and modest – how lucky I am to have met you.”</p><p>Erik laughed - sniggered, really. This sounded very close to mockery, but the look in Nadir’s eyes seemed to suggest otherwise.</p><p>Nadir continued, “so tell me – how does so young a man, with your admittedly large and prodigious talents, find themselves able to win large contracts and take on prestigious projects. Monsieur Giradin talks with great regard of your ability. I know little of architecture but I was under the impression that it takes years to train. You are an apprentice, are you not?”</p><p>Erik felt suddenly unsure, despite it all, despite the chemical ease in his blood, undone at the interest this smiling, open man was showing in him. The urge to talk and talk, to communicate, to be known for himself, was mixed furiously with a feeling that if he started to talk, he would simply never stop, and the awful shame of it all would come spilling out like piss from a dirty, incontinent drunk. Better never to say anything at all than to risk being seen like that. He had to get away from all this, immediately. He bowed his head. “I am indeed an apprentice. But I think my life story – such as it is - will have to be told another day. My extreme talents mean I am a very busy man and, therefore,” he stood up quickly, “I must leave.” There would be another day, with this man? Please god there would! “Monsieur Mazanderani, Monsieur Giradin, Nadir – good afternoon to you all.” And with that, he left.</p><p>The sun had almost set and Erik chose to walk home in gathering darkness, breath visible in the cold afternoon air, and as he walked, he thought of only one thing – how utterly tragic it would be if he never saw Nadir again. And if that was the case, why the fuck had he just run away like that?</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The pharmacy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had met Rafael several months previously in the concert hall of the Conservatoire. Erik attended their concerts regularly and, naturally, sat at the back; Rafael, also a frequent concert-goer but, always late, sat at the back by necessity. The third time they found themselves together at the back of a concert, Rafael had turned to Erik at the end and offered his hand, smiling and said, “this is getting silly! Rafael Lefevre - pleased to meet you.”</p><p>Erik, who had lived alone for the best part of two years and who was desperately and outrageously lonely (not that he would have admitted it to anyone) was, with good reason, deeply distrustful of the intentions of others towards him, but remembering Guizot’s efforts at civilising him had managed, just about, to overcome his reluctance and take the offered hand, “Erik Renouf.”</p><p>Rafael was a big blustery man who said he was a professor of law at the Sorbonne, and who seemed not to see Erik’s mask and hesitancy, started up a long and expansive monologue about the shortcomings of the soloist they’d just heard. Rafael had then suggested they go for a drink together, and when, after a couple of hours of steady drinking, Rafael had reached down and squeezed Erik’s thigh and moved perilously closer, Erik had not stopped him, but instead was flooded with a wild and dangerous need for this man, loneliness and isolation leaving him wide, wide open to this attention, to any attention at all – and to the utter thrill of meeting another like him.</p><p>Erik had always known what he was and had a rare acceptance for this odd aspect of himself. There seemed little reason to hate something about himself that he had always felt to be good and pure, even if 'what he was' was somewhat unusual – there was, after all, plenty else in him that was worthy of his disgust. And in any case, looking the way he did, what did it matter either way?</p><p>Several years ago there had been an earnest conversation, shortly before they’d left Rome for good, late at night, led by Giovanni, aided by Guizot, and fuelled by a large quantity of wine, during which they had spoken to him of the <em>extreme vulnerability of young women</em>. Giovanni’s noisy and frankly ungovernable daughter - what was her name? Carina? Luciana? - had taken to following him about and tossing her hair at him, and crying loudly, and worst of all coming to sit in his room entirely uninvited, and they seemed to think that he might be on the verge of returning her affections. Or not. Or something worse - Erik wasn’t sure. He remembered making a mild protest saying that he didn’t think he’d ever marry and they’d looked even more pityingly at him, and Erik had felt compelled to gently explain to these two old men, his voice made sloppy with the wine, that those long hours he’d spent in those gallerias of Florence had, most assuredly not been spent looking at the <em>Birth of Venus</em>... The conversation had come to a sudden halt and Giovanni gave a shout of delighted laughter as he realised what it was that Erik was trying so delicately to say, and he then looked oddly relieved and announced it was time to retire to bed.</p><p>And two weeks later, Guizot had solemnly handed Erik a copy of <em>Le Père Goriot</em>, saying, “with reference to our conversation about your visits to the galleries to admire, ah, works other than of the female form. You might find some, some – reflection of yourself in here.” And Erik had dutifully read the book that night in the quiet of his room, wondering at its significance, until he came to a speech by the large and <em>manly</em> criminal Vautrin and his declaration, ‘There is only one true feeling and that is the friendship that exists between two men.’ And at this he had laughed and laughed almost to the point of hysteria, almost until he cried, with a mixture of hilarity and desperation and a deep, deep sadness, at the very idea that if he was not interested in women that he would somehow be one who could attract the attentions of <em>men</em>.</p><p>The following morning Erik had handed the book back to Guizot and said as solemnly as he had been given it, “yes, I see that you understand my predicament.” And the vulnerability of young women and the unlikeliness of marriage had never been talked of again.</p><p>It turned out that despite the thrill of being on the receiving end of flattering attention, dealing with Rafael was confusing and difficult for Erik. It suited him utterly that Rafael only ever spoke about <em>his</em> work and <em>his</em> friends and <em>his</em> opinions – indeed, the idea that Erik would want to tell Rafael anything about his own life other than the most superficial of details was an anathema, and even the presence of the mask was accepted by Rafael without question, other than to enquire that the reason for the mask was not, in fact, for the Italian disease.</p><p>However, Rafael’s disinterest was not acceptance. Their first time together, in Rafael’s apartment, Erik had thrown off his mask, feeling the full effect almost two bottles of wine, and Rafael, on seeing his face, had given a great cry of something like laughter, something like horror - “Jesus Christ, you’re hideous!” And he had then fairly launched himself at Erik and the resulting act had seemed to him more like a punishment than anything else, and a far, far cry from anything Erik had imagined it would be in his stupid and youthful innocence.</p><p>And afterwards Erik had flung his arm over his face and given a pathetic <em>sob,</em> despite the wine, and Rafael had asked if it had been Erik’s first time with anybody at all, and at Erik’s slurred, “what the fuck d'you think?” he had muttered an apology and fallen asleep.</p><p>Erik could not have explained why he had returned to Rafael again and again after this. He could not have explained why Rafael continued to see him other than to believe his own nasty conclusion that Rafael’s willingness to even touch him was a result of a perversion, one that was far more grotesque than his own. Was it worse to attract the company of a pervert whose painful advances left him feeling dirty and humiliated, often resulting in Erik losing long periods of time to alcohol or (more recently) laudanum, or continue to suffer the constant rain in his heart at being so alone? Was anything better than nothing at all?</p><p>And in any case, why did he think that a horror such as himself deserved anything better than the attention of this prurient man?</p>
<hr/><p>Erik stepped into pharmacy out of a downpour. He stood for a moment in the entrance out of politeness to let the water run off his coat and shoes and hat. The place was warm and dark, the walls of shelves reaching great heights, filled with jars containing all manner of quackeries. In the past, it would have been the joy of his life to climb those shelves and discover their mysteries. But not now.</p><p>At the counter, the pharmacist – a Monsieur Durant, from the shop sign - gave him a small smile of recognition and said, “Good morning, Monsieur. You have come here for your usual?”</p><p>Erik thrust his hands into his coat pockets. “Yes. I have.”</p><p>“Ah, with the greatest of respect, I have noticed that you have become an increasingly frequent customer here. I wonder - <em>I wonder</em> - if you might like to come through to the back with me, as I have something that might help you. Somewhat.”</p><p>He felt his face go hot under the mask. Oh, the humiliation of being noticed for this and to be thought of as in need of<em> help!</em> He had no idea what to say, whether to thank the man or scold him.</p><p>Durant peered at him. “I’ll take your silence to mean that you would like – my help?”</p><p>Was there any help for the likes of him? “I would,” he said, quietly.</p><p>“Then follow me, young man.”</p><p>The pharmacist let him through a fold in the counter and into the backroom. It was filled with damp laundry on ropes across the ceiling and there was a warm fire in the hearth and by the fire was sitting a woman nursing a baby, who seemed oblivious to their presence. Durant gestured to Erik to sit at the table across from the woman while he fetched whatever it was that would <em>help</em>.</p><p>Erik found himself transfixed by the woman, her blouse open to reveal her pale breast and her neck, her long red hair coiled round her shoulder, arms encircling the sleeping infant, both of them rosy in the firelight. Was this how his own mother might have looked, had she not spewed forth a monster? The woman seemed lost in love for her baby but after a little while she looked up, her gaze milk-soft, and smiled at him. He could not return her gaze and looked away, ashamed to be caught so openly staring – ashamed of his hideous form in such awful contrast to her fat sleeping child, a dark stain of evil in the presence of holiness.</p><p>Presently, Monsieur Durand returned to the table with a small wooden box and a vial of liquid. “This is morphia. You may have heard of it? It is of great use to those of us who, er – are a little troubled to find that they are taking larger than convenient quantities of laudanum. I will show you how to administer it. I am sure you will find it far more pleasant than having to drink that nasty stuff.” As he spoke, he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and opened the little box, Inside, on the velvet interior lay a long glass cylinder and a metal needle. “And this is the new hypodermic syringe! You will need to watch me and pay careful attention – the procedure can be hazardous if you don’t get it right. It is also very important to get the dose correct.”</p><p>Erik nodded solemnly. Durand assembled syringe and the driver, drew up the morphine, demonstrated how to tie a tourniquet, how to find a vein on his own arm, grabbing Erik’s hand to place his fingers on the engorged vein in the crook of his elbow, already full of puncture marks – “Feel here, it’s full, springy to touch. This is what you want.” He showed him how to hold the syringe as it entered under the skin, and finally how to push the stuff deep into the blood. Erik watched, fascinated, as Monsieur Durand shut his eyes and gave a deep sigh as it entered his vein. A silence fell in the room that was only broken by the crackle of the fire. After a minute or two, Durand recovered himself and packed everything away in the little box, his voice marginally thicker than before, “so, you see what you need to do? Take only half the amount that I did and it will see you right for the whole of the day.” The woman by the fire had returned to her baby and did not look up as they left.</p><p>They went back to the shop front where Erik was sold and paid for a needle of his own and several vials of morphine, all wrapped neatly in brown paper and he left the pharmacy feeling a curious mixture of excitement at his discovery, a nauseous dread, and a little thrill at this newfound excuse to injure himself.</p><p>The rain had slowed to a cold, wet drizzle and Erik began to walk fast down the side of the market that filled the street leading towards his apartment. He was anxious to get home and felt terribly exposed in a place so full of people and activity. The aches in his limbs that he had woken with this morning were intensifying and, unpleasantly, his nose, such as it was, had begun to run. As he walked he heard, with a shock of disbelief, his name being called above the din of the market – had he begun to hear things already? - and he spun round to be confronted with the sight of the huge and beaming <em>Nadir</em>, an extraordinary sight in his long green coat amid the dirt and chaos of the street. “Monsieur Renouf! I have found you at last! I knew you lived around these parts and now here you are!”</p><p>Erik thought for one desperate second that Nadir was about to embrace him. “What are <em>you</em> doing here? Why have you been searching for me?” Dear god, they made a ridiculous pair, standing in the mud, in the drizzle, Erik in his white mask towering above most men, Nadir in his Astrakhan hat towering above him; “Come away from the middle of the street!”</p><p>Nadir did as he was told and moved with Erik to an empty doorway. He continued, still smiling in a way that Erik found most disconcerting. “I am very pleased to have found you. I enjoyed your company very much the other day, as did Monsieur Mazanderani. He wishes to invite you to tea so that you can show him some more of your remarkable inventions.”</p><p>“What? No! I mean, not now! What are you doing, following me about? Who told you where I live? I have to get back –“ He turned as if to start walking away.</p><p>Nadir laid a hand on Erik’s shoulder. “Your employer told me you rent rooms in Montparnasse. And of course – you must come at a time that is convenient to you.”</p><p>Why would anyone ever invite him to tea? For their own entertainment? He felt bizarrely furious at the idea. Erik shrugged out of Nadir’s grasp. “He has seen enough of me and my efforts! Tell him no, I will not be coming to tea.” He went to leave. What was he doing? Here was this man, who had filled Erik’s thoughts since their first meeting a fortnight ago, who had sought him out and had now found him, and now, like an utter fool, he was doing his best to escape from him again. Why?</p><p>“You would, of course, be paid well for your time – surely a man such as yourself would prefer to find rooms away from the fish in the market?” Nadir gestured at their smelly surroundings.</p><p>“It is none of your business where I find lodgings. You can tell <em>your</em> employer that I am not a court jester, and I do not entertain people with my inventions! Good day to you.” He walked away. No, no no! The very idea that he would get his hopes up by agreeing to Nadir’s proposal would surely only lead to disappointment. And he would not be an entertainer! Get away from the man as fast as possible – do not hope!</p><p>“A hundred francs.”</p><p>Erik stopped and turned his head sharply.</p><p>Nadir laughed, “ah, I see that caught your attention. Every man has his price.”</p><p>Erik felt a shiver of shame. He continued on.</p><p>He felt Nadir bound up behind him. Erik span around and spat, “leave me alone. I don’t want your money.”</p><p>“I am sorry for offending you. I had no intention of doing that.” Nadir gave a little bow. “I am being truthful with you, Monsieur Renouf. I too, enjoyed your company and I wished, after you left so suddenly the other day, to seek you out again. My employer is quite insistent that you join him, and soon, and so I will leave you his card and you can consider his serious proposal. I will come back tomorrow and you can give me your answer.”</p><p>Erik took the offered card and shoved it deep in his pocket. He was feeling sick and miserable and deeply conflicted. ‘I enjoyed your company.’ Why was he saying that? Who would ever enjoy his company? He looked up at Nadir as if he would find the answer to his questions – all the myriad fucking questions, all the things he could never say – in his eyes. Nadir held his gaze firmly and it was Erik who looked away first. He sniffed noisily and muttered to ground, “I will give my answer tomorrow afternoon. At 4 o'clock.”</p><p>He probably wouldn’t; he probably wouldn’t ever see Nadir’s beautiful face and his green coat again, because he was a horrible ridiculous coward who felt frightened and angry at everything, and had to run away from everything, even when it was meant kindly, and who always got it all wrong. Erik was relieved to find that he was not followed as he walked away.</p><p>Back at his apartment, his heart had begun to beat fast with excitement as if he was about to meet a lover; he closed the shutters, bolted the door and sat on his bed, took off the mask and opened the little case with the needle. He put the thing together, rolled up his right shirt sleeve, drew up the morphine into the driver and made a tourniquet around his upper arm, holding the syringe in his teeth. He had never appreciated the plethora of veins that snaked up his white arms until this moment and now they all appeared endlessly ripe for the picking. He felt tenderly for the fullest one and pushed the needle in like a warm knife through butter and pushed the driver down gently.</p><p>He sighed. Oh, how much better to find his answers here than to search for them in the eyes of a man!</p><p>And then</p><p>
  <em>ohJesusfuckingChristAlmighty</em>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Walking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Erik spent the following day in his rooms deliciously undisturbed, often sitting on the floor to work on any number of the little machines that he had invented and built, and which were now scattered throughout the place, a veritable homage to his industry and creativity. And an inability to tidy up after himself. He thought that if anyone came in and found him surrounded, as he was, by all of these creations they would think him some overly-long, crazy, child. He made himself smile at this, and was pleased at the fact that, of course, no one would see him in here, like this.</p><p>His mood compared with recent weeks was positively buoyant, thanks in no small part to the morphine that he had taken yesterday and again early this morning; but he had also managed to eat some of the bread and fish soup that Madame Hervé left outside in the hallway for him, and for once he felt safe and well. And excited at the prospect of Nadir's return. He would say yes to everything! He was anxious not to lose track of time and miss his appointment and so had placed a large clock in the centre of the room and set it to chime on the hour, and promised himself he would not have another dose, not until much much later. After Nadir.</p><p>In his eagerness to escape yesterday he had not thought it peculiar that Nadir was choosing to come back in person to receive his reply rather than simply accept a note carried by a messenger boy. But today he had a little rush of pleasure each time he thought of his promised return, and the churning conflict he had felt yesterday had all but gone. He did not allow himself to speculate what he would do if Nadir did not come back. The crush of misery he felt when it occurred to him, sometime the early afternoon, that Nadir might not keep his word had been so strong that he had almost turned back to the needle, but had been stopped by some unexpected miracle of self-preservation. And hope. <em>Fucking hope</em>.</p><p>At five to four, he tied on the mask and raced down the stairs in his shirt sleeves forgetting how cold it was outside and stood at the steps to his building, expectantly. Monsieur Hervé, the porter, who was also standing at the entrance, nodded good afternoon, and then, to Erik’s annoyance started up a friendly chat, commenting on the weather, the strange smell there had been about the place recently, the extortionate price of firewood and finally, how dark it was.</p><p>“What are you talking about? Of course it’s dark, it’s almost midwinter.”</p><p>“All right, all right. I think it’s darker than normal. Something is up. I can feel it in my bones. Did you know - Oh, oh! - look at this!” Monsieur Hervé pointed up the street, “there’s a veritable <em>giant</em> coming! Bloody hell, he’s even taller than you!”</p><p>Erik looked and saw Nadir walking towards them and felt a not unpleasant lurch in his guts. Acutely aware of Monsieur Hervé’s presence, he did his best not to jump on his tiptoes with excitement, not to run down the road towards Nadir in the very same way he’d wanted to run away from him only yesterday. What was happening to him? Had he gone completely mad?</p><p>He waited on the bottom step. Nadir arrived and stood on the pavement directly in front of Erik, and they were now the same height. Erik felt Monsieur Hervé watching them. He was also aware that he was smiling at Nadir. <em>Beaming.</em> With his awful face</p><p>“Good afternoon Erik. I have to say, you are looking, ah - you seem – <em>better</em> - than yesterday. Are you well?”</p><p>How did he know? And how did he know how awful he had been feeling yesterday? No matter! “Yes, I am! Yes, I am much better than yesterday, thank you for asking. And yes I will come to visit your employer for tea and I will show him more of my ideas!” <em>Out it all came.</em></p><p>“Well, I am pleased to hear it. That is good news.” Nadir smiled back, his whole face suddenly radiant and beautiful.</p><p>“I – I shall, er, when should I – ?“</p><p>“We can arrange a time as we walk together. Would you like to go for a little walk now that it is dark? With me?”</p><p>What?!</p><p>Erik gave in and let himself bounce on his toes. “Yes!” He was at a loss for words, all beyond YES. He felt as if his chest might burst and was suddenly on the verge of tears. Nadir had come back and now they were going walking together!</p><p>“Would you like to fetch your coat? It is growing cold and it is almost night.”</p><p>
  <em>Considerate as well as handsome.</em>
</p><p>“Yes! Oh – yes – I’ll get it. Ah – wait there!”</p><p>“I will wait here.”</p><p>And as he turned to run back up the steps, he caught Monsieur Hervé in the corner of his eye still watching them intently.</p><p>He raced up to his room and cast about for his coat and hat and scarf amidst the chaos and almost fell back down the stairs in his rush to get them all on, and back to Nadir. He jumped down the steps outside. He heard Monsieur Hervé laugh, the crazy old fool, always laughing at the pigeons – even when all the pigeons had gone to bed.</p><p>To his immense relief Nadir was still there, as he said he would be, huge and solid and <em>real</em>.</p><p>“Would you like to show me the way Erik? You will know Paris far better than I.”</p><p>“Yes, of course. We shall go to the river.” <em>Stop fucking saying yes, you maniac. You’re going for a walk with him. You’re behaving as if he’d just got down on one knee and asked for your hand in marriage! Oh! But if he had –</em></p><p>Nadir held out his arm, crooked at the elbow for Erik to take. Erik looked at the offered arm and felt a sudden flush of self-consciousness. Would Nadir want his horrid bony hand to touch his coat? Nadir waggled his elbow as if to say ‘come on then’, and Erik overcame his hesitancy and slipped his hand into his arm, and they began to walk. Together. Erik not really showing the way at all. He felt Nadir’s warmth and his strong bicep and looked at the side of his face in wonder. Nadir was talking and it gave Erik the time to gather himself, arm in arm with Nadir, to try to control his breathing, to try desperately not to cry. <em>Don’t cry, please don’t cry.</em></p><p>“What do you think of that then?!”</p><p>Erik blinked, “I’m sorry. What do I think of what?”</p><p>“You weren’t listening!” Nadir laughed. “I shall have to try harder to keep you entertained!”</p><p>And they walked long into the night, and after his initial uncertainty and emotion, Erik was entirely self-forgetting, able to concentrate solely on Nadir and their enjoyment of their talk and of each other. The rest of the world fell away as they walked. And Erik felt<em> safe</em> with this man. He felt able to answer the gentle questions that were put to him with truth and confidence and his answers were not mocked or not treated as childish or ridiculous or disgusting; there were no demands placed upon him, nothing that made him ashamed or frightened or angry, even the absence of wine was a blessed relief, leaving his mind clear to remember and participate and respond and –</p><p>He would not think of that word.</p><p>Eventually they walked back to Montparnasse, to Erik’s apartment. They had not arranged a time for him to visit Monsieur Mazanderani, the very thought of him now seemed intrusive. Nadir smiled, “I will have to come back here again to arrange a time.”</p><p>“You will?” And then quietly, “I hope you will come back soon.”</p><p>“Goodnight, Erik.”</p><p>What to say? What to do? He could think of nothing that would do justice to the evening and so he turned away and paid his <em>sou</em> to enter the building. And when he came to his rooms, it was not the case of the needle that he opened, but the case of his lovely violin that he had so neglected recently.</p><p>And after he had tightened the bow and tuned her, he stood by the open window in the clear moonlight and played.</p>
<hr/><p>Erik played this.</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qtyTaE7LvVs&amp;t=1513s">
    <span class="u">Bach - Chaconne, Partita No. 2</span>
  </a>
</p><p>(Of course he did, because it contains everything.)</p><p>And although it was 1am some of the neighbours quite appreciated it. Someone from the street below even shouted ENCORE and then, IF YOU PLEASE, and instead of shouting back, “fuck off”, he did actually give them a bit of an encore.</p><p>He played this, just to show off, despite the fact that his left hand was aching.</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTUWCr3IXxw">
    <span class="u">Bach - Violin Sonata No. 1 in G Minor</span>
  </a>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The fair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the backstory klaxon is going off.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His wife six weeks in the grave, Guizot visited the travelling fair on the outskirts of Paris with his sister and her husband.</p><p>He hadn’t wanted to go with them – what interest had a man such as he in the sordid attractions of the fair? But they had insisted they join him. The inevitable, “Elise would have wanted it, she wouldn’t have wanted you to mope!” as if they thought the accusation of moping would spur him into action. And besides, this fair was said to be particularly wild with tumblers and singers and dancers and magicians and fire-breathers and puppet-shows oh, and <em>thieves</em>! to steer clear of, the prospect made altogether more thrilling by the fact that it was la Toussaints.</p><p>And so he had acquiesced and gone with them and his two small chattering nieces and on the way he thought of all the work he could be doing, all the writing he could get done instead of being crammed with his wife’s family in their carriage just to prove that he was not moping.</p><p>The fair was as sordid and as muddy and as crowded as he had predicted, but the nieces had been thrilled at the sight of the puppets and the singers and magicians, and his sister had laughed uproariously at the sad performing bears, and they had stood about together and ate bread and meat that was cooked over a large fire, completely inappropriate in polite company but they were at the fair so it didn’t matter, and it had felt like a little holiday, a welcome step into another world, away from academics and books – and grief.</p><p>And as the night fell the wind got up and whipped the leaves from the trees about their feet and blew the women’s skirts and the ribbons on their bonnets, and made everyone laugh, and groups of people looked at each other as they passed to share the fun, and there descended on the place at atmosphere of hysteria, as if anything could happen, an ancient carnival, the half-hidden things coming out of the woods to join them in their excitement.</p><p>Finally, they came to the very last of the fair, all apart from one small circular tent. The wind was making the two torches either side of the entrance gutter and outside there had gathered a little group of people and they were being addressed in theatrical fashion by a large man in a squashed hat. The man saw them approach and called them over to join the group.</p><p>“Come, come my friends, come and join us, you’ve arrived at the very last attraction in our little fair but you will soon see that it the very best, the most remarkable, one that will make the young ladies weep and the grown men wonder at their own mortality – “</p><p>Guizot put his hand on his sister’s arm, “this sounds ridiculous – you go in with the girls, I’ll wait on those seats over there.” He turned and started to walk away. The man continued, “- you will see before your very eyes, and hear with your own ears, The Living Death!”</p><p>The Living Death.</p><p>What came to horribly Guizot’s mind was the night that he had arrived home from St-Martin-de-Boscherville, at the end of a troubled day’s journey, his mind unable to rest with the knowledge of the strange and extraordinary child he’d been introduced to by a desperate mother. “Elise”, he had said, “he had a face like nothing you can imagine, it was like death, as if death had come alive. And yet he was so innocent of it, so eager to learn from me, he was so alive and so bright.” And she had laughed and told him not to be so dramatic, what had got into him? – he is a man of science, that the country air had turned his head.</p><p>And so he did not tell Elise that on seeing the child’s face he had given up his intention of taking him into their own household to instruct him, knowing instinctively that such a child would be the death of him – and possibly Elise. But out of pure curiosity he had offered to tutor the boy and had returned regularly to the house and marvelled at his learning and his prodigious nature. And at each return to Paris he wondered how this child would ever be able to live beyond the walls of his mother’s house, and it was a combination of her desperation and the child’s brilliance that gave his lessons with the boy a fervour and an intensity that was both thrilling and exhausting. And yet what hope was there for the child?</p><p>Guizot turned back to the man and the group. They were being ushered in. He forced himself to retrace his steps, suddenly full of dread at what he would see in that dark interior, a fear that was far deeper than the titillation the showman was promising. The Living Death.</p><p>He stood at the back of the tent away from his family. The place was dark and earthy, and lit only by a few candles and in the centre of a small platform was a huge vase of bright chrysanthemums, quite out of place in the gloom of the tent, and beyond them what appeared to be a heap of rags. Guizot’s heart was suddenly hammering in a way he had not felt for many years. He took his handkerchief and wiped his brow. This would not do. Why was he so afraid of an odd little show in a decrepit tent?</p><p>The showman, near the stage, was shushing the crowd, a fat finger to his lips, the whites of his eyes showing. “Quiet, quiet. Hush now - can you hear the song of death? He is coming, he is coming…!” There fell an expectant silence and some moments later there came a soft humming that seemed to dance about the tent, moving, flitting, as if the voice of a spirit had inhabited the place. People began to murmur with disquiet for the apparent movement of the voice was an unsteadying, confusing thing, that played on the wind both inside and outside. And the man hushed them again, “quiet, quiet, death is approaching!” in such a way that would have been funny under almost any other circumstances, but now darkened the atmosphere still further.</p><p>The voice grew louder and louder, sometimes coming from the chrysanthemums, sometimes from the sides of the tent, sometimes, to the great consternation of the group, appearing to come from within their midst, and the humming became words and forming a circling song – an ancient northern song of sailors lost at sea and the mermaids who took them and the sadness of the wives left behind, sung with such great emotion that Guizot thought that the grief that he felt for his newly dead wife might rise to the surface of him and spill out in a terrible cry. <em>What was this?</em> The voice continued on, high and pure and clear, a boy’s voice, one which was beginning to lose its top notes but rounding out in the lower notes to be stronger and richer than the voices of any of the boys he’d ever heard in the cathedral at mass.</p><p>And all the while Guizot could not shake the feeling that he was about to see something so very terrible, despite the beauty of the singing, something of unspeakable cruelty and depravity –</p><p>He looked to the stage; the heap of rags seemed to be standing of their own accord, taking the shape of a small human – who then turned towards the group, the face a deathly white, with deep dark eyes. There was a gasp from the watchers, and another when they realised that this ‘face’ was not a face at all but a mask. Guizot felt his jaw go slack with horror. He knew that mask. He knew the child. He knew that this death mask was not the face that they had come here to see, and the knowledge of this filled him with nausea at what was to come. He felt his knees go weak and was quite unable to take his eyes from the child before him, who had now picked up a violin and played a simple lilting melody with great poise and dignity.</p><p>The showman whispered loudly, “ah - he is playing the requiem mass, for death is now upon us – “</p><p>And the child started to sing, lifting his chin from the violin to do so, playing to accompany himself, the words of the <em>agnus dei</em> and the group sighed with the profound beauty of his voice, and because at last it had stopped moving around them but located itself as if it was coming directly from the flowers, as if the chrysanthemums themselves were singing. The tent was filled with a sense of deep and quiet holiness, such as one would expect to experience in the presence of a saint, quite unlike anything that was roiling about in the world outside, as if all that mattered was this voice and the gentle sound of the violin.</p><p>
  <em>Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace.</em>
</p><p>And the child stopped playing soon after the last miserere nobis, took the violin from his chin and without looking at him, passed it to the showman. He raised both hands as if an act of supplication, his head thrown back and lowered them slowly to cover his face and as he did so looked down to face the crowd – Guizot’s heart was thundering now, <em>God have mercy, Christ have mercy</em> – for he knew with utter certainty what they were about see, and what they were all about to do this child, what great sin they were about to commit – <em>have mercy upon my soul, dear Lord, for what I have done, for what I failed to do</em> –</p><p>And as the child lowered his hands down away from his face there was revealed his true face, unmasked for all to see. The crowd cried out as one at the sight of the child’s face - this child who had only moments ago had seemed the source of all that was holy, who had lifted their hearts to thoughts of Christ and God and mercy – now the object of their disgust and fear and hate. Women started to cry, the children hid themselves in their mother’s skirts, a man shouted, “Cover it up, it’s disgusting!”, and people began to push leave the tent to get away from the sight before them. The showman laughed loudly and shouted, “The living death! – he is here! Feast your eyes upon his horror! But will you live to tell the tale?”</p><p>Guizot stood at the back unable to move. He stared at the child still standing alone and unmasked on the stage, who was breathing fast, chest heaving, eyes rolled up to the top of his head in a way that Guizot recognised from his own childhood as a desperate attempt not to cry. Guizot knew to the depth of his bones that he had to take the child away from this place, this very evening, without delay. How he would achieve this he had no idea. He was not a fighting man. He had little money on his person. But he would do it!</p><p>His sister and nieces passed him looking distressed and pale on their way out of the tent. He grasped her by the arm, “Marthe, I know that child – “</p><p>“Oh Henri, it is so awful!”</p><p>“Marthe – you must listen – that is the child I used to teach, it is him!”</p><p>She glanced back to the stage where the boy was now tying on the mask. “Oh God – “</p><p>“I have to get him away from here. Take the girls out – where is Robert?”</p><p>“What will you do? Are you sure it is him? Where will you - ?”</p><p>“Of course I’m sure! How many others look like him!”</p><p>“I’ll send Robert back in here. Come girls, quickly” By now the tent was almost empty, and the showman and the child were preparing to leave. Guizot approached them, still entirely unsure about how to execute his plan.</p><p>The showman looked up at Guizot. “Can I help, monsieur? You’ve come to get a better look? Boy – over here. You’ve got a special customer,” and then looking back at Guizot, “another <em>uncle</em> maybe?”</p><p>Dear God, what was the man suggesting? “No, no! – I wanted to talk to the child, to Erik – “</p><p>With mention of his name, Erik’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes huge behind the mask.</p><p>“You know this man, boy?”</p><p>Guizot replied, “Yes, I know him, I am his teacher – “</p><p>“This true? You have a teacher?”</p><p>Erik had begun to move cautiously towards them.</p><p>“Well here he is, monsieur le professeur, talk to him.”</p><p>Guizot looked directly at Erik. The child was looking up at him in something like abject terror. Guizot struggled to find the words, “ah, Erik – it is good to see you, after all this time – “</p><p>“Well come on then, that’s enough of the emotional reunions. I have to ask you to leave now, monsieur. This is a very hard-working boy and he needs his sleep. Don’t you, my little darling? Hurry hurry!” He grabbed Erik by the wrist and made to leave the tent.</p><p>Guizot became aware that Robert had now joined them and had heard most of their conversation. He was still entirely without a plan to rescue Erik and with desperation said, “Monsieur. I will be taking Erik with me tonight. He does not belong here with you!”</p><p>“You will be doing no such thing, my very fine friend. This boy is mine and he is highly highly profitable. Aren’t you my sweet? I very much doubt you would be able to afford him! However, we might be able to negotiate an hourly price, should you so desire.” He laughed at Erik, “you’re big enough to earn your keep in other ways now, my lovely!” And he went again to leave the tent, still holding Erik’s wrist.</p><p>“Name your price.”<em> What was he saying?</em></p><p>From the back of the tent Robert spoke. “May I see your livret, monsieur? I believe that you are required to hold one at all times in order to run your little show? A proof of your sound and honourable character. With your offers this evening I very much doubt anyone in the courts would consider you an honourable man, and without one you would be grave danger of losing everything you have – including the boy.”</p><p>“Who would ever know?” the showman all but hissed.</p><p>“It would be your word against ours. He – “ pointing at Guizot, “is a professor at l’Ecole des Beaux-Arts, and I am a senior notaire. You have been asked to name your price. He is willing to pay compensation. Tell him now or we will take the child without payment. It is the two of us against you in here.”</p><p>Guizot looked at Robert, impressed. He had never seen his brother in law as a man of action and now here he was driving a hard bargain with a criminal. How much money did he have on his person? How much could he actually pay this man?</p><p>“I don’t believe you,” the man crowed.</p><p>“Where is your livret? Name your price.”</p><p>“Five hundred francs.”</p><p>“One hundred. You have no livret!”</p><p>The showman gave a shout of frustration. “Fucking hell – one hundred francs! Have him! He’s a shower of shite anyway and soon his voice will be gone! Give me the money and take him!”</p><p>And with that he hit Erik across the back of the head so that he was propelled to the floor at the feet of Guizot. Guizot and Robert both threw some francs at the man, and then Guizot picked Erik up from the floor and ran with him from the tent.</p><p>The showman shouted after them, “what about the rest of it?”</p><p>Robert shouted back as he left, “you have no livret; you know it, we know it and you are not moving on for several days. We are doing you a favour, monsieur!”</p><p>Guizot hoisted the child over his shoulder and ran into the crowd looking for his sister. Erik was light considering his height and was loose and limp like a rag doll in his arms. He called to Robert, “give me your coat – cover him. Where is Marthe?”</p><p>By now it was dark and there were more people than ever in the swirling darkness, shouting and laughing and playing, the dancing light from the torches made everything seem wilder and madder, and the wind still catching the leaves all about them. They found Marthe and the little girls standing next to a chestnut seller, glad of the warmth from the brazier, still full of shock at what they’d just seen. Marthe’s hand flew to her mouth when she saw Guizot and the bundle he carried. “You’ve got him! But, but – what will you do now?”</p><p>“We have to take him home, of course.”</p><p>One of the little nieces asked, “who is it you have got there? Why are you carrying them?” She received no reply from anyone and they hurried to find their carriage in a dark field beyond the fair. Erik still remained shrouded in Guizot’s arms, Marthe and Robert hurrying ahead with their daughters. At last they found the carriage and their horses tied up as they had left them. There was a rushed discussion about where everyone would sit, all while desperately trying to avoid the girls discovering the nature of the bundled person they now had with them. Elodie, would sit up the front with her father and it was hoped that Patrice would soon fall asleep cuddled next to her mother, and as such, Erik could travel somewhat unbundled and no one would be alarmed at finding themselves in a carriage with The Actual Living Death.</p><p>Sadly their plans, such as they were, were unsuccessful. Many years later, when Elodie was a mother herself and Erik was paying her family a rare visit, she let it slip to him with a smile that she still remembered that journey and had even given the memory a title: The Carriage Ride When Everyone Screamed. Erik had almost managed to smile back and bowed his head a little, thinking that if he’d given every one his of childhood memories that involved screaming a fucking title he’d be dead before he managed to name them all.</p><p>The journey home had indeed been awful. Marthe was unable to keep from saying over and over that they should never have gone into the tent, look where it had led; they went to the fair with two children and were coming back with three. Neither of the girls could contain their excitement about the mystery person hidden under their father’s coat. Erik, for his part, managed to stay entirely still, despite the conversation around him and it was only when they went through a particularly big dip in the road and the coat moved to reveal his foot that it all fell apart. Somehow the younger niece recognised his ragged shoe and instantly remembered to whom the shoe belonged. She opened up her mouth and screamed long and loud, Marthe and Elodie joined her not even knowing the reason why. And then Erik leapt up - maybe in fright, maybe in anger - throwing off the coat with an equally loud scream, his sudden and terrible appearance making the girls scream ever louder, and cry, and he went to jump out of the carriage. He was caught almost by the ankles by Guizot who had to throw himself bodily on the boy to prevent him from escaping. Robert brought the horses to a halt and for a few seconds it did seem that everyone in the carriage was screaming.</p><p>Guizot had the good sense to remove Erik from the carriage while the parents attempted to calm their daughters. What on earth could be done? Clearly Erik could no longer travel in the carriage with the girls who proved impossible to placate, and so he and Guizot walked the remaining three miles back into the centre of the city, Erik wrapped in a miserable and impenetrable silence with Guizot feeling that he had failed deeply and utterly at the first hurdle. He had been amazed that the child had not run off but stayed with him until they reached home.</p><p>Years later, Guizot asked Erik why he had stayed with them despite all the screaming, and Erik had replied, “I think I was hungry and I had nowhere else to go.”</p>
<hr/><p>Erik was singing the <em>agnus dei</em> from Bach's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tdLCcQixNvg">Mass in b Minor</a>. </p><p>I imagine he would have played it a similar tempo and actually sounded quite like this, even though it is a man singing here.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It did appear that fairs and shows in the middle of 19th century France were quite well regulated, and entertainers were required to have a livret to show they were above board and all that. I don't how well they were enforced, I kind of over-emphasised their importance cos I really had no idea how Guizot would rescue Erik otherwise without having a massive bunfight, and that seemed really out of character for him. Good job Robert was a bit of a Karen.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Rafael and his friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Who’d fall in love? Truly, it’s awful. </p><p>Erik deals with Rafael in his own terrible way.  Also! 19th century Starbucks!</p><p>All the tags apply to this chapter, and I’ve added some extra just for fun.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Erik arrived early at the practice the following morning despite the lack of sleep, his heart still light and in a mood that could be described as crystal clear. The tendency to revolting weepiness he had experienced over the past few months (years!) seemed to have left him as if by magic; his shoulders had lost of something of their tension and he found could walk through the large room where they all worked at his full height, daring to look the others in the eye as he passed. He even smiled when Giradin had called after him, “hey, Erik, your hair needs a cut – would you like me to ask my wife to do it for you?” and had laughed at him as if it was the funniest joke he’d ever told.</p><p>He went to his drawing board and began work in earnest, ideas that he had recently but that had stayed resolutely in his head now forming themselves beautifully on the page before him, his pencil moving quickly and efficiently, the way it always used to, and beyond all this, there was his - what was it? excitement? Hope? No – fuck all the adjectives! - the word to describe his feeling was <em>Nadir</em>. Beautiful and real and in such contrast to the awful Rafael. Maybe he would never have to see Rafael again?</p><p>“What’s up with you?”</p><p>Erik continued to work.</p><p>“Renouf – what is the matter with you?”</p><p>He was apparently being spoken to by Paul, the draughtsman at the drawing board next to his. To himself, Erik had named him ‘Little Tiny Paul’ which was an accurate description of the man and an appellation that seemed to Erik to be positively <em>fond</em>, considering all the names he’d been called over the years. However, the irony that he, of all people, should name a man for his appearance was not lost on him.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“You’re humming.”</p><p>Erik, still looking at his work and firmly not at Paul, lowered his head somewhat towards his torso and sniffed. He probably did hum, all things considered.</p><p>Paul laughed. “No, you don’t smell! You’re singing!”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>He looked up at Little Tiny – <em>don’t call him that!</em> – Paul. The man had turned to face Erik, sitting back in his chair, legs apart, the picture of friendliness.</p><p>“I’ve rarely heard you speak, and now you’re singing, well, humming. You’re here before midday. You seem like a different man. Got a new lady-friend?” He actually winked.</p><p>Erik coughed, “No! No, I haven’t got a new lady-friend. Or any kind of lady – or friend – for that matter . My <em>sincere</em> apologies for disturbing you with my humming.”</p><p>He turned back to his work. He had not been aware of humming and added to this the talk of a possible lady-friend (God!) made his face feel hot, and he was sure his neck would be reddening. How to hold on to his sense of well-being while having also to be in the presence of people?</p><p>“Oh, you didn’t disturb me. You’ve got a good voice. I like to do a bit of a turn myself, after lunch on a Sunday. The lovely wife plays on the piano. Very congenial. Do you play an instrument?” Evidently the <em>humming</em> had transformed Erik in Paul’s eyes into someone who would be up for a nice friendly workplace chat.</p><p>Erik looked up at him again. He looked at the others, still working around them, apparently oblivious to the evident strangeness of this interaction. Is this how it went? Is this what the appearance of happiness does to a man? Draws them into the company of others? Makes them seem worthy of easy conversation and gentle flattery? He thought back to the conversations he had with Nadir – over lunch, he’d been excited and let’s face it, drugged, but the desire to engage had been there, and the conversation seemed to come easily and had given him pleasure – for a time. And then there was the long and almost miraculous conversation of last night, where he’d allowed himself to be so thrilled about being with Nadir again, so thrilled he thought he might cry; perhaps length of conversation was directly proportional to the degree of euphoria felt? Maybe there was an equation for this, Newtonian in its elegance?</p><p>And now: Chatting with Paul.</p><p>What, indeed, was up with him?</p><p>“I play the violin.”</p><p>He was, admittedly, still drugged, but Paul was right – something had changed in him - whether it was the result of <em>Nadir</em> or <em>morphine</em> he couldn’t be sure. The thought that he might not be able to tell the difference between the effect of Nadir or morphine gave Erik a little jolt of horror, because really, if that was the case what would be the point of anything at all?</p><p>“Very nice. My old man played the fiddle – he tried to teach my eldest before he passed away, God rest his soul.”</p><p>Erik looked at Paul, unsure of anything to say about this man’s dead father and his musical efforts that didn’t sound rude or dismissive.</p><p>“ah – “</p><p>“There’s nothing quite like it when it’s played really fast, is there?”</p><p>“Well, I suppose you could say that – “</p><p>They were saved from any more of this nonsense by the clerk with a note. It was a formal invitation to a meeting with Monsieur Mazanderani, at 3 o’clock the following Tuesday.</p><p>He felt his heart tighten a little with disappointment that this note had been delivered by a messenger and not by Nadir himself as Erik <em>thought</em> he had promised, and that it would be over a week before he would see him again.</p><p>Erik turned back to his work, anxious not to have to chat with Paul, anxious to fill his mind with the potential geometries of steel and the properties of glass, for he could feel coming up from his depths the old knowledge of rejection and the awful compulsion he had to cling. He knew that if he could only work, those horrid truths about himself and all that desperate longing for Nadir would be drowned out, hammered out of his mind, at least for a while.</p><p>And the more he ruminated on Nadir’s absence, the more his heart tightened and the bitter thoughts came rushing in, as they always did; Why hadn’t Nadir returned to him in person? What had happened last night? Had he got it all utterly wrong? Had he made a complete fool of himself? What was real? And what had he imagined?</p><p>Somehow the solidity of architecture was the perfect counter-balance for the flights of his churning mind. So he worked and worked and threw about his shoulders the silence necessary for deep concentration, a silence that radiated out from him and seemed to have the effect of repelling Paul – and everyone else - for there were no more attempts at a friendly conversation with Erik for the rest of the week.</p><p>And when he was not working, which was rare because he stayed very late each night to avoid to the need to stop working, he raced back his apartment and composed – compositions that sometimes he managed to capture on the paper, and that sometimes escaped his grasp and only existed in the air for those few brief seconds after the bow left the string, music for himself alone.</p><p>When his frantic activity eventually came to a halt in the early hours of each morning he would inevitably fall into that pit of hopelessness and despair whose walls he could only scale with the help of the needle.</p><p>At first, he had planned ways to seek Nadir out, just as Nadir had sought him out; he had gone to the clerk’s office and demanded Mazanderani’s address. But then he had had no idea how to proceed. What could he do? Go and stand in the street like a hell-faced Romeo and wait to be seen by Nadir? Would he sing to him with longing, call to him from the shadows with a beautiful siren song, to entice him in? Could he simply call on him and ask – well, what would he ask? There were a million things he could ask, each one more excruciating than the last. He would never ask!</p><p>And then came the echo of a thought; <em>you would seek him out if you were more of a man.</em></p>
<hr/><p>The days rolled round to Friday. There was still no word or sign or sight of Nadir, and the sharpness of Erik’s initial disappointment had become a dull and persistent ache. What a fool he was to have allowed himself to fall so hard and so quickly for a handsome man with a wide and lovely smile, who simply happened to have been nice to him. What a desperate little thing he was. Who was he to think a man such as Nadir would have any interest in him at all? The man probably had seven beautiful wives, and twenty-five children and a herd of black stallions. And maybe camels! And many, many houses. Whatever they had in Persia – he would have it! Why did he even dare to presume that Nadir would be interested in a man, let alone a man (could he really be called a man?) such as Erik?</p><p>And so, because it was Friday he would go to Rafael and there would be no thought of Nadir, and he felt his messy weeping heart close up even more, wall itself in, and become cold and dark and bitter, and this evening he would let Rafael fuck him hard, hard enough to beat all of this out of him, all of this hope and desire, and all of these pathetic ideas of love and happiness.</p><p>Rafael was already at ‘their’ table when he arrived. There were two plates before him, and he was eating, fast.</p><p>Erik sat. And in the absence of his heart to complicate and muddle things, the words flowed out. “Good evening, <em>my dear Rafael. </em>Two dinners! We’ve been through all this before – you know I do not eat! You are wasting your money on me! And you certainly do not need to be eating for both of us.”</p><p>Rafael didn’t look up from his plate. “What’s got into you?”</p><p>“So many things, dear Rafael.” He smirked and poured himself some wine.</p><p>Rafael looked up and eyed him intently. “Why are you so late?”</p><p>“I’ve been working incredibly hard – would you believe it? No, I’m certain you wouldn’t. I’m working on a new railway station, which, let me tell you, will be the envy of the world, certainly far grander and airier and full of light than that Crystal Palace those little Englanders are so proud of. But why are you here so early? Your failure to prevent the president and his coup d’etat making you want to run from your law books? Really, ’48 is looking more and more like an abject failure. Isn’t it?” He took a big gulp of wine and smiled again.</p><p>Rafael frowned at him. “What do you know of politics?”</p><p>“I think you underestimate me, my dearest. Your revolution failed because you failed to prevent the bourgeoisie becoming frightened of the prospect of the workers engaging in – what does your friend Marx call it? - <em>the permanent revolution</em> - they want stability, they want the return to the glory days of Bonaparte. Can you blame them?” His gaze was moved beyond Rafael, who was still frowning at him, as he noticed that a small group of well-dressed men had entered the bar and were walking towards them, apparently having recognised Rafael. “And talking of comrades, I think some of yours have joined us. How absolutely marvellous.”</p><p>Rafael spun on his seat, “ah, shit.”</p><p>Erik grinned and whispered, “aren’t you delighted to be seen with me, in here? It’s too late to hide!”</p><p>Under normal circumstances, he might have felt cowed and intimidated by the presence of these men, in this situation, but not this evening; he suddenly had the very rough idea of a nasty little plan for Rafael, one that involved these men – for a kind of revenge. One thing he knew about Rafael was that he cared very much to conceal from others what he was, and that Erik himself couldn’t care less who knew, and he knew that he could use this knowledge to his advantage. His heart really had closed up.</p><p>And he felt a sudden and intense thrill at this prospect of being able to utterly humiliate Rafael in front of these men with the simple fact of his presence. <em>Ah, dear Rafael, you have underestimated me yet again.</em> He took another large gulp of wine, leant back and watched as the scene unfolded.</p><p>Rafael stood up and the men, three of them, presumably his friends, greeted him and then proceeded to seat themselves at their table without invitation. And their attention turned to Erik who had remained seated.</p><p>“And who is this, Raff? You’ve not introduced us. A man of mystery in a mask!” the first man said, friendly enough.</p><p>Rafael looked gloriously and endlessly uncomfortable. He introduced Erik as an <em>acquaintance</em>.</p><p>Erik felt on the edge of a high and dangerous precipice. Would he dare to jump off? Would he dare to say it?</p><p>
  <em>Say it!</em>
</p><p>He jumped. “Ah, clearly Rafael is being somewhat stingy with the truth here. We are far more than friends. Aren’t we my love?”</p><p>A shout of laughter went up, at him, at Rafael, and then Rafael, who wasn’t laughing at all, said, “he is drunk, he always is – he doesn’t know what he’s saying – “</p><p>One of the friends laughed, “he does know! I’ve always thought it about you, Raff – that you’re something of a <em>rear admiral</em>!”</p><p>Another huge burst of laughter and one of them placed his hand on Erik’s crotch and grimaced, “are you the man or the woman?” How effectively he could make things descend into farce. Another of his great talents. Maybe, one day, there’d be a comic opera about him.</p><p>Erik pressed the man’s hand hard into his crotch and squirmed, and then delicately removed it, smiling, and said in his sweetest voice, which could be very sweet indeed, “ah, I think we all know who the man is in this relationship, don’t we Rafael? He is very, very manly – oh!” He widened his eyes and made a gesture to indicate Rafael’s great length, which made them all laugh even louder, and then he leant forward to grasp Rafael’s hand.</p><p>As Erik well knew, with humiliation came great rage.</p><p>Rafael lunged forward and with his free hand went to grab the mask from Erik’s face. Erik, being quicker than him, grabbed his wrist and helped him to remove the mask, by pulling it upwards so the whole thing came off over his head. As they did so they both stood up.</p><p>Quickly, in the shocked silence, before the shouting started, Erik hissed at them all, “this is what he wants, gentlemen; this is what Rafael wants to fuck! <em>This is the kind of man he is</em>! You would still say I am the woman, eh?”</p><p>Rafael lunged forward again with a great yell of outrage as if to grab Erik by the coat, which mercifully, he had not taken off. Erik avoided him by sitting down and grabbing his hat from the floor in one swift movement, and taking advantage of the confusion and shock caused by his terrible face, and ran from the table and the bar, out into the dark street.</p><p>He could hear the shouts of horror and disbelief and wild laughter coming from inside and he paused a moment a little way away to truly relish the disgust that his face had inspired in others, getting at last the response he so believed he deserved. And then he was filled with nausea at what he’d done to Rafael, and more, how he had so willingly humiliated himself. What was he becoming?</p><p>With his awful mood and the blackness of his heart he had half a mind to walk the streets of Paris bared-faced but decided that despite all this deliberately bringing even more horror upon himself would be a step too far. And so he wound his scarf around his face, leaving all but his eyes uncovered and pulled his hat down low and began to walk.</p><p>By the time he reached his apartment his <em>messy weeping heart</em> had fought itself free. He was shaking as he entered the building, ignored Monsieur Hervé’s pleasant greeting, and raced up the stairs.</p><p>Once locked into his room, he began to pace, made almost frantic by the knowledge that he’d been so quick and so eager to debase himself in order to humiliate another. And that he could be so easily be debased like that; that the simple fact of his nature when combined with the truth of his face was all it took to reduce one associated with him to rage and incite such laughter, only fed his self-loathing. It quickly grew intolerable and he fell to the floor with the needle and with hands still shaking drew up a reckless amount of morphine into the syringe, scratching himself deeply before plunging it in, pushing the morphine down in the vein hard and fast.</p><p>He could fuck himself well enough, without any need for Rafael.</p>
<hr/><p>He began to awake from a blackout so intense that he wondered vaguely just how close he’d come to death. He discovered later with little interest that he was covered with blood and vomit and sweat, and that the needle was still stuck in his arm. Gradually, as the numbing of the morphine wore off, he lay there curled up in such a state of sickness and self-disgust that he hoped he might eventually rot away into the floorboards.</p><p>It was the intense need to piss that roused him from the floor. Always his treacherous body that kept him from death! He found the chamber-pot and relieved himself, gulped down some stale water and crawled into his bed. Why was he so determined to wage this war upon himself? And the terrible fact that he could not manage to win the war against himself, even by accident, fed the dark kernel of shame that had always lurked within his heart until its darkness grew and grew until he was entirely enveloped by darkness, entirely drenched in death. He wondered if it was possible for a man to just cease to be by collapsing in on himself, be consumed by the negative, a kind of anti-life, become a ghost.</p><p>It was the voice of Madame <em>fucking</em> Hervé that broke through his thoughts. Was he condemned to be interrupted by this woman for the rest of his life? Perhaps her screech would be the last voice he ever heard?</p><p>“Monsieur Renouf,” she called, “Erik! Are you well?”</p><p>He mustered up the strength to shout back. “Go away!”</p><p>Would she hear him? His voice was rough and weak. <em>Please let her fuck off.</em> He could hear her talking to another in the corridor.</p><p>“Monsieur, monsieur, you have a visitor!” And then almost conspiratorially, “he is a very tall man – I think you <em>know him</em>. He says he is called Monsieur Khan. He is here with me now!”</p><p>Erik gasped, opened his eyes and struggled to sit up. Had he heard correctly? That Nadir had actually returned? That all his fear had been for nothing? The absolute state of him and his room, his arm still bleeding, the vomit and the urine – how could this be happening now? A sudden rush of panic made his brain fizz a little. How could he see Nadir again in such a state of degradation? Why had he returned now?</p><p>“Tell him, tell him Erik is – I am ill – tell him - I can’t see him -“</p><p>“Are you sure? He is here!”</p><p>Some faint spark of self-preservation remained in him, and he knew he had to get out of bed. He had to speak to Nadir – what else was there to do other than lie in his filth and hope for death? He croaked, “wait there.”</p><p>Erik stood, feeling horribly light-headed but managed just about to catch his balance. He tore off his foul shirt and found his dressing-gown. There was no mask to be found anywhere – he would have to talk to Nadir through the tiniest crack in the door. He managed to pick his way over to it and slid open the bolt. He opened it, keeping his left foot firmly behind the door, toes bent upwards to make a doorstop and held tight onto the handle. He leant bodily against the wall, his unmasked face turned away.</p><p>He heard Nadir speak to Madame Hervé. “Thank you, kindly, Madame. You can leave us now.”</p><p>“But is he alright? Oh! I thought he had died – “</p><p>“He is clearly alive, you can leave us now, kind Madame.” There was a pause. Erik heard Madame Hervé walk away.</p><p>“Monsieur Ren – Erik – I am sorry I did not return to you as I promised I would. My employer has been ill and the entire household has been taken up with caring for him.”</p><p>Erik said nothing, struggling to control his breathing.</p><p>Nadir continued, “Erik, are you alright?”</p><p>A wash of misery and relief came over Erik and he gave a great sob. He screwed up his face tight to allow it to pass before he could try to gain control of his voice. “No. I’m not alright. Not really.”</p><p>“Oh - I am sorry to hear this. Madame Hervé was worried about you. Are you ill?”</p><p>He could not stop the tears from coming and he pressed the fingers of his right hand hard to his eyes. He heard his voice, high and tear-soaked, “yes. You could say that.”</p><p>“May I come in? It might be, er, easier than talking out here?”</p><p>“No, Nadir – you may not come in.” He gasped, “and I am not - in a fit state - to be seen - it is quite re-revolting in here – I am quite - ” and gasped again and could not go on.</p><p>Erik thought with utter sadness that Nadir now would go away and never come back and this only intensified his noisy weeping.</p><p>“Perhaps, then, you might like to talk in the café over the road? In a little while?”</p><p>Erik couldn’t speak. He still wanted to talk to him?</p><p>“Erik?”</p><p>He took a great shuddering intake of breath. “No - I do not think – I want – to leave this room.“ His shoulders suddenly shook with weeping. The wall held him upright.</p><p>There was a long pause. He wondered if Nadir had finally gone.</p><p>“Erik, you sound very distressed.” Nadir’s voice was close to the door now, barely above a whisper.</p><p>“Do I? How can you tell?” He gave a laughing sob.</p><p>“Yes, you do. I am worried about leaving you. I am wondering what to do. We can’t stay talking like this. Maybe – perhaps – you would like a little time to, er, prepare – and then you will let me in? I shall wait in the café.”</p><p>Good god, he was so persistent. No one had ever been in this room, not even Madame Hervé, despite the fact that she had every right to. But was this not what he had longed for, this whole past week? Say yes!</p><p>Erik shut his eyes and whispered, “come back in half an hour.”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>Erik shut the door, turned and slid to the floor. He put his arms on his knees, pressed his head into his arms and sobbed.</p>
<hr/><p>Erik found, like many others have found before and since, that after a period of intense crying there often comes a sense of peace and calm, which gives space to more rational and easier thoughts. In this peace, to his surprise, he found that he had the strength to get up from the floor, and wash himself and change his clothes, and find another old, grey mask. He threw the blankets up over his bed, wiped the vomit from the floor with a rag and carefully disassembled the needle and put it back in its case. He put the lid on the chamber pot and pushed it under the bed. The rest of it would have to be seen as it was.</p><p>Presently there was a knock on the door. Erik opened it carefully, and there was Nadir smiling, holding a brown paper bag of bread in one hand and a steaming china cup of coffee in the other. Erik did his best to smile back, and let him in.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Coffee, brioche and peanuts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Erik and Nadir, chatting.<br/>Erik tries his best to be 110% ANGST but Nadir isn’t having any of it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Erik stepped back to let Nadir into his room and shut the door behind him. What to do now? What to say? He had gone from a state of almost complete collapse to playing the generous host in what seemed like a matter of minutes. What on earth would Nadir think of the place? He looked about it as if seeing it for the first time; the models and mechanics and tools that lay about the floor, along with the clock he’d used to keep the time before that fateful walk, the desk full of papers and compositions and his violin, one windowsill lined with pots of old red geraniums, interspersed with empty wine bottles their tops stopped with half melted candles, the three empty bird cages, the pile of clothes on the desk chair, all lit with what little wintery light could filter through the half-open shutters. What chaos it must seem to Nadir. He resisted the urge to wring his hands.</p><p>“Ah – sorry, sorry – let me find you somewhere to sit. I don’t often – ever – have people- “ he dumped the pile of clothes on the chair onto the floor, “here - sit there. With your coffee.”</p><p>Nadir laughed. “Erik it is for you! It is very good coffee – I had some while I was waiting for you and I thought you could do with it too. I almost had to sign my life away to get the good Madame to let me take her precious cup away with me. Why don’t you – sit on your bed, and I’ll sit at the desk.”</p><p>“Oh.” Erik went to the bed obligingly, glad that Nadir seemed to know precisely what to do in this odd situation. He handed him the cup, and the bag of what Erik assumed was bread. The bed was low. He sat hunched over, knees propping up his elbows.</p><p>“Excuse me for thinking that you might need something to eat. Are you feeling a little better now? Madame Hervé was worried about you – which is why she brought me up here to talk to you. She said something happened last night. Erik, are you alright?”</p><p>Erik was holding the cup in both hands, staring at it fiercely. He felt anything but ‘alright’, the man’s concern for him pushing him again to the verge of tears. He wanted desperately not to give into them, feeling raw and ashamed of the show he’d put on at the door only a little while ago. With the effort of controlling himself, his voice came out as a growl. “Yes. I’m fine.”</p><p>“Oh. Good. That is good”</p><p>Erik didn’t think he sounded convinced.</p><p>Nadir paused and then, looking around. “It looks like you are very busy in here, Erik. Your compositions?’</p><p>“Of sorts. I have ideas. I write them down.” He was still growling. He took a sip of coffee. It was rich and sugary and full of milk.</p><p>“Maybe one day you will play them? To me?”</p><p>Erik looked up, holding the cup near his face, almost as protection. “Maybe.”</p><p>Nadir smiled. There was another pause. He looked down at his hands and exhaled. “Erik, I am wondering what the matter was – earlier? Why were you so distressed? Is there anything I can assist you with?”</p><p>Erik shook his head. The barely controlled emotion rose up again. What could he say to this man about the truth of his heart? How could those things be said? He shut his eyes. “No, I don’t think there is.”</p><p>He heard Nadir give the faintest sigh. Another long pause. Erik drank deeply of the coffee.</p><p>“You made all these things? On the floor? – they’re quite, er, varied – “</p><p>“Yes. I made them.” He was becoming monosyllabic, as he used to with Guizot, when there was a lecture to be given about his conduct. Soon the wild music in his head would begin and then he would be lost completely to Nadir, lost to everything. He kept his eyes shut.</p><p>“You drink your coffee. I’ll stop asking questions.”</p><p>Erik drank and as he did so, he forced himself to try to think what to do next, what to say, the taste of the stuff keeping him whirling off into his mind. He finished the cup, put in on the floor carefully and looked up, still entirely unsure as to how to proceed. Nadir was watching him. Erik found himself staring openly into Nadir’s eyes. Nadir held his gaze.</p><p>At length they broke the silence together.</p><p>“I’m sorry – “ “What did Ma –“</p><p>Nadir said, “you speak, Erik.”</p><p>“What did Madame Hervé say happened last night?” Why did he ask this? Surely this would only lead to a tale of his own grotesquery?</p><p>“Only that you arrived back here in a state of great anxiety and without your mask. And that is unusual for you. To go – ah – without a mask.”</p><p>“Mm.” Erik twisted his hands together.</p><p>“Is that what made you upset this morning?”</p><p>“That. And other things.”</p><p>“Other things.”</p><p>Erik felt his throat tighten again. “Awful things, really.” What could he say to Nadir about last night – and the previous week which had been so filled with longing and fear - that did not reveal himself utterly and totally?</p><p>“Awful things?”</p><p>“I can’t possibly say – “</p><p>“Too awful to tell me about?”</p><p>Erik looked at Nadir. He felt as if he were being mocked and felt <em>fucking</em> tears spring again to his eyes. He shook his head and looked away.</p><p>“Erik – I am sorry to push you when you clearly don’t want to tell me. It is not my intention to cause you further distress.” Nadir leant forward so that he was mirroring Erik, his forearms resting on his legs. “Would it help you to know that I am also sorry that I couldn’t return to see you sooner?”</p><p>Erik swallowed. “I was - I was - “ he put both hands up to his face, covering his mouth, “ – sorry too.”</p><p>“I enjoyed our walk together that evening. Very much.”</p><p>Erik stared at Nadir, his hands still covering his mouth. He felt his eyes widen. “Yes,” he whispered.</p><p>“I was thinking that perhaps – when you have <em>eaten something</em> – and are feeling well, that we could go for another such – walk. Together?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Maybe this evening?” Nadir looked out of the window. “It will be a clear night.”</p><p>Erik followed his gaze. “Yes.”</p><p>He felt himself pulled along by the tide of his <em>yeses</em>. He had to stop – he had to ask what Nadir meant by all of this. He had to. Hadn’t he been able to say the things – the terrible things – he’d wanted to say yesterday? Why the difficulty now?</p><p>Was it - what was the phrase they used? – because he now had so much to lose?</p><p>“Nadir? What are you doing? Here?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Why are you here? With me? You know I don’t wear this mask for the fun of it? I say awful things. I do awful things. I don’t really understand – “</p><p>“What don’t you understand?”</p><p>Was Nadir entirely obtuse? “I don’t understand what this is all about!”</p><p>“This?”</p><p>“Yes! This! You - in my room with coffee and –“ he looked into the bread-bag, “and a brioche! What are you trying to do to me?”</p><p>“Erik – I am not trying to do anything to you! I enjoy your company. You are – a remarkable man – and, I thought that you – “</p><p>“What?” Erik jumped up.</p><p>“-- <em>seemed</em> to enjoy my company – but if that’s not the case, if I’ve been mistaken, then I’ll leave. At once!” Nadir stood.</p><p>“No! Don’t leave! <em>Jesus Christ</em> – I wanted to die this morning! Only an hour ago! And then you turned up, <em>with a</em> <em>fucking brioche</em>, and I don’t want to die and I – I can’t stand it!”</p><p>“What can’t you stand?”</p><p>“Not knowing! - not knowing – what it all means. What you mean!” He looked at Nadir, desperately.</p><p>“Erik, I am not really sure what to say to reassure you. Other than what I’ve already said. Do you need me to tell you that I don’t bring a brioche to everyone I meet? That I haven’t been to the house of that bald man, <em>who you tried to strangle</em>, with a coffee and some bread? That I haven’t invited<em> him</em> out for a walk this evening. Two walks! In the moonlight! I am not sure how plainer I can be with my – intentions.”</p><p>“But – “ Erik flopped back down onto his bed.</p><p>“But what?”</p><p>“<em>Why?</em>”</p><p>Nadir gave a little laugh. “Would you mind if I sat next to you?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Nadir moved over to the bed and sat down, close to Erik, close enough for Erik to feel his warmth. <em>Ah, shitting fucking hell.</em></p><p>“If I’m honest, I don’t know why. Can you explain why you wanted to die this morning?”</p><p>“Idiocy – desperation – “</p><p>“Oh, how dramatic of you! Listen, I am well aware that you may not be the most, ah, conventional-looking of men – “</p><p>Erik huffed.</p><p>“—but I am quite certain we can cross that bridge when we come to it. If you want to come to it. But for now, please believe me when I say I am not trying to do anything to you; I enjoy your company. I did from the first day we met. Believe me, it is as simple as that. That is my meaning.”</p><p>Nadir smiled, looked directly at him, gently picked up Erik’s right hand and placed it to his lips.</p><p>Erik blinked, mouth open.</p><p>“Now. I have to leave and get back to my employer. I will be outside here at 6 o’clock. And we will walk.”</p><p>And with that, he got up, went to the door, turned and gave Erik another broad smile, and left.</p>
<hr/><p>Erik, who had never been kissed on the hand by a man before now, indeed, had never been kissed by anyone, anywhere - what Rafael had done to him didn’t count – remained sitting on his bed.</p><p>He looked at his hand as if there would be some evidence of the kiss upon his fingers. He had a silly thought – <em>I will never wash again</em> – which made him almost laugh. But more than the kiss, was what Nadir had said; ‘I enjoy your company.’ Erik had pushed him to that, had he not? And yet Nadir didn’t seem pushed. He didn’t seem pushed at all but entirely at ease with Erik. Happy, even. And had invited him for another walk. Could he dare to hope, to trust this man?</p><p>He spent the rest of the afternoon in an infinitely better mood than the one he had woken in. At some point there was a knock on the door, and when he opened it, looked down to find a tray of meat and potatoes. He ate the brioche and then the plate of food and felt almost uncomfortably full. He took a judicious amount of morphine and spent the rest of the afternoon lazily pulling songs from his violin. The frantic activity of the past week or so had finally ceased, and his messy weeping heart felt less messy, wept less. He thought vaguely about writing to Guizot but decided that the contents of any letter detailing anything of this past week would have to be entirely fictional. What could he tell Guizot of – all this!</p><p>And when the time came, he dressed himself warmly, pulled his mariner’s cap down low, his scarf up high and went and waited for Nadir on the steps in front of his building.</p><p>Nadir arrived exactly when he said he would. He was dressed in what Erik considered to be <em>French clothes</em> – a frock coat, an overcoat and a top hat which made him seem about seven foot tall. “Goodness. The giant appears to have grown.”</p><p>“Do you like it? I thought that I should try to blend in, somewhat!” Nadir smiled and offered Erik his arm, as before.</p><p>Erik took it and they set off. “You’re not blending in. At all. Christ Almighty – this is not how I should go about Paris - day or night – on the arm of a giant. But I do like it.”</p><p>“Well, the good thing is – they will be looking at me and not at you!”</p><p>“Mmm. Don’t be so sure. We looked like we’ve escaped the circus.”</p><p>Nadir laughed and patted Erik’s hand. “We? Never fear, I will protect you from all the horrible <em>starers</em>!”</p><p>Erik swallowed, his ears and face suddenly hot, a strange tension in his chest; <em>ah if only he could, how wonderful that would be</em>. And then; since when he had got so soft? What was he thinking, hoping that Nadir would protect him?</p><p>They walked in silence for several minutes. The streets were busy, full of people returning home from work and filling the bars for the evening. Erik watched them all as they passed. Yes, there were glances in their direction but none of them seemed to last for long, or if they did, he enjoyed being able to hold on a little tighter to Nadir’s arm and look away.</p><p>Erik remembered that their conversation during the previous walk had kept firmly to matters of the turbulent politics of the day, and architecture and the history of the streets along which they walked. It served purely to show that him found each other’s company easy and companionable, but never strayed into the sphere of the personal. Would it be more of the same this evening?</p><p>And so, after a while, Erik dared to break their silence, “why do you speak French - so well”</p><p>“My father was associated with the French mission. We had a French governess.”</p><p>“We?”</p><p>“Three sisters, two brothers.”</p><p>“And why are you here – in Paris?”</p><p>“I was destined for a boring job with the police – my father had connections – my life was all planned out. I had the opportunity to leave.”</p><p>“And so you jacked it all in and chose a life of adventure in wet and muddy France? Well, there’s no accounting for taste. How long have you been here?”</p><p>“Just over a year. If France is so terrible, why are you still here, Erik?”</p><p>“Mmm. There’s a question.”</p><p>“You have lived in Paris all your life?”</p><p>“No, not at all. I was born north of here. In a village near Rouen. And then – “ He realised he had been led down a perilous path, to discussion of his life before Paris, to his childhood – he never revealed anything of his shameful and degrading childhood to anyone. He and Guizot had never spoken of the fair and the conditions he’d found him in, as if by not talking about it they could pretend<em> it</em> – and all the terrible reasons why <em>it </em>had happened – could be forgotten, the first eleven years of his life, scrubbed clean away. If only it were that simple.</p><p>“And then?”</p><p>“Ah – let’s just say – <em>let’s just say</em> – that my childhood was not a pleasant one, Nadir. I actually – I actually never speak of it. But when I was about eleven or twelve, maybe, a man – a professor, that my mother knew – he, well – he changed things - ” He couldn’t say ‘<em>rescued me</em>’ – “for the better.”</p><p>“ah – “</p><p>“He took me into his own household. His wife had recently died, he had no – <em>offspring</em> – and we rode about France and Europe for the better part of eight years – and he taught me – as we travelled. Ha! That sounds awful. He taught me<em> properly</em>. He had been my tutor when I was much younger. And he taught me architecture and mathematics and drawing, and when there were things he didn’t know, music, primarily, and sciences, languages, wherever we stayed there appeared someone who could teach me. He did all this. And at one point, when I was about fourteen, fifteen, we stayed for over a year in Rome with an old friend of his, a master-mason, where I learned to put everything I knew about architecture into practice – Guizot, that’s his name – wanted above all to give me a trade. A life in music was out of the question. I could never perform, looking the way I do, and who would want me as a teacher? And then, when we returned here, he went to live in Granville, I became articled to Giradin.”</p><p>“He sounds like a very good man – Guizot.”</p><p>“Oh he is, he – he saved me – in ways I can hardly bear to think about. I have no idea what would have become of me otherwise. He civilised me, Nadir, if you can call me civil. I was not an easy ward. He gave me immense freedom, he had to; – I often ran away – I was deliberately awkward - I was wild – I fought - I shouted – I cried - even more than now! Can you imagine? And especially at first. Well, all the time, really. When I wasn’t occupied with something. I am still not sure what – why - he did what he did. For me.”</p><p>They had reached the river. Erik felt a pang of self-consciousness for being this open, this flood of words was now pouring out of him as he’d so dreaded. He took his arm from Nadir's and there was the familiar urge to run away. He looked down over the edge into the water. “It’s not tidal here, not like the Thames through London. There, the tide goes out and you can walk along the shore and find treasure – “</p><p>“Erik – “</p><p>“ -- I used to find all sorts of things, Roman pottery, pipes, coins – “</p><p>“Look at me – “</p><p>“ – and once I found a whole human hand – “</p><p>“Erik – stop talking – “</p><p>“I love rivers, you know. I remember once, soon after we set off, we stopped at a shallow river in Normandy, gave the horses a drink. There was an abbey. He let me play in the river, I built a dam – “</p><p>Nadir grasped Erik’s right shoulder and pulled him round so they were facing each other. He placed the forefinger of his right hand lightly on Erik’s lips. “Shhhsh.”</p><p>Erik shut his mouth in surprise and not a little outrage.</p><p>“I understand why Guizot did what he did for you. Even if you don’t – “ He took his finger away and smiled.</p><p>“Oh, do you? Good for you.” And suddenly aware that he’d been rude, Erik cast his eyes down to his feet. “Maybe one day you will meet him – “</p><p>“Another maybe?”</p><p>“You, <em>my de-ar Nad-ir</em>, have not seen my face. Everything is <em>maybe</em> until then.” Erik thrust his hands deep into his pockets and started to walk.</p><p>“Why not show yourself to me now? Get it done with.”</p><p>Erik called over his shoulder, “Why ruin a perfectly nice evening?” He turned and started to walk backwards, “Come on. Don’t just stand there!” Would Nadir follow him? He turned and walked away, faster now, with a feeling that he had somehow managed to ruin the evening without needing to show his face.</p><p>Nadir did not follow him. Erik felt his mood begin to sink, felt himself going down under dark waters. He increased his pace and his shoulders stiffened. He began to work out how to return home as quickly as possible.</p><p>Presently he heard a breath behind him, he flinched as someone – Nadir! – put his hand on his arm.</p><p>“Erik – you walk so fast!”</p><p>“I thought you’d gone home.”</p><p>“Gone home? I stopped and bought us some peanuts. They’re hot!”</p><p>Erik stopped walking to look at Nadir. How could he have got it so wrong?</p><p>Nadir held the bag out. “Here – have one – they’re good.” He was out of breath.</p><p>Erik reached in and took a single peanut. He placed it carefully in his mouth, watching Nadir all the time. He wanted to say, ‘<em>I am doing this thing I never do, for you</em>’, but he kept silent.</p><p>Nadir smiled at him, “they are good aren’t they?”</p><p>“Yes. They are.”</p><p>“Have another one. Why did you think I would go home?”</p><p>Erik took one. “Because – because – “ He screwed up his dreadful face. He knew the reason; because he couldn’t do what Nadir wanted of him. But how could he show his face when he had done so only yesterday to such terrible effect? “Because I’m a fool. But you are more of a fool - for pissing off like that! I nearly ran home.”</p><p>“That would have been a great shame. I shall have to keep a <em>close eye</em> on you.”</p><p>“Ugh – please don’t. I don’t want anyone’s eyes on me – “</p><p>Nadir laughed, “not even my eyes?” He widened his eyes dramatically.</p><p>Erik couldn’t help but laugh back, “good god, you are an idiot!”</p><p>They began walking again, in silence. Erik found himself reaching for the bag of peanuts several times, thinking <em>being in the presence of this man means I eat peanuts, in public</em>, which struck him as utterly ridiculous but also utterly joyous.</p><p>It was who Nadir broke their silence. “So – what happened to you last night?”</p><p>He looked up at Nadir. Oh god! “You really want to know? I don’t think I want to tell you. It is a sordid little tale.”</p><p>“Even better then – “</p><p>“—it is shameful, Nadir. It’s not at all funny. It involves a man – “</p><p>“A man? What kind of man?” Nadir stopped walking.</p><p>“A man I know – “</p><p>Nadir gave a little laugh. “A man you know? About whom you are going to tell a sordid tale? Forgive me for prying, Erik, but what is the nature of your relationship with this ‘man you know’?</p><p>Erik stared at him. “You sound like a policeman!”</p><p>Nadir laughed again, “He is your lover?”</p><p>“Lover! I wouldn’t have called it <em>love</em> - !”</p><p>Nadir gave a great shout of laughter.</p><p>“Why are you laughing? He is – was – awful!”</p><p>Nadir was almost bent double with laughter. Erik couldn’t help but smile at him despite his confusion.</p><p>“Erik, Erik – I am laughing – because – because of what you say about yourself! - ‘oh, oh, I am so ugly, you can never look at me’ - and yet here you are with me, this evening, <em>like this</em> – and you have a lover! How do you keep a track of us all?”</p><p>Erik gave a cough of laughter. How could Nadir have got it so wrong? He folded his arms as he waited for Nadir to stop giggling.</p><p>“I don’t have a lover. Anymore. Er - I don’t think I ever did. Certainly not him. He was – “</p><p>Nadir recovered himself, suddenly serious. “Ah Erik, I'm most relieved to hear it. I was beginning to worry that I should be jealous.” He laughed again. “Come here.” He reached down and took both of Erik’s hands and drew them to his chest, “you are – you are – a very interesting and mysterious man. And a very funny one.”</p><p>Erik had no idea what to think. Being laughed at in this way, by Nadir, was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. This felt fond and gentle, and yes, Erik could discern the very edges of why Nadir might find the idea that Erik appeared to have <em>two men</em> in his life funny, and strangely, it did not feel mocking or humiliating. Standing there, his hands still being held, he looked into Nadir’s eyes and gave a half-smile. The desire to tell the <em>sordid tale</em> and recall the horrid events of the previous night left him completely. He sighed. “I don’t really know what to say. To you.”</p><p>“<em>Maybe</em> – Erik, maybe you don’t have to think of what to say.”</p><p>And Erik was flooded with a sudden rush of feeling, and everything apart from <em>now</em> fell away and in that moment he was free and pure and able to act exactly he wanted; he gently drew Nadir’s right hand to his mouth, shut his eyes, and kissed him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Any comment or feedback on this would be really appreciated. I've never written dialogue like this or tried to describe anyone fall in lurve or anything approaching romance (!) so this is all quite alarming for me. </p><p>Also! How do you know when you're just blahing on with a story? I don't want to make this a kind ta-da! it's a happy ending! because there is clearly so much stuff that is still left unsaid between these two, and I'm not sure Erik (in this one at least) is capable of a truly happy ending. And what is writing fic if not self-indulgent? </p><p>But I dunno. Where to go from here?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A visit to M. Mazanderani</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Erik has a revelation about himself and is beckoned in two directions.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tuesday arrived. Erik had spent the previous couple of days, after his second walk with Nadir in a kind of hectic joy – the lows hadn’t been too low, the highs had been unexpectedly high, and there was a sense of a future beyond endless work.</p><p>They had walked for hours into the night and finally arrived back his apartment having talked themselves hoarse, but thankfully avoiding any more difficult disclosures about his <em>weird</em> childhood, leaving Erik with that glorious sense of having known Nadir for years. But he had not invited Nadir up to his room feeling, despite everything, profoundly reluctant to have to confront that difficult process of revealing his horrid face. And Nadir did not force the issue! And this did not throw him into a frenzy of self-doubt but seemed instead, to Erik, to come from a place of consideration. Were there any limits to this man’s wonder?</p><p>He spent Tuesday morning at the practice gathering together all of his drawings and ideas, filling a large folio case. He had no idea what M. Mazanderani would want to see, but he felt perhaps that now, of all times, he could really expound upon his inventions and his thoughts. If his mood was right, he loved to talk and talk about these things, in the way that had done when he’d first met Nadir.</p><p>The previous evening it had occurred to him to think of something to give to Nadir, a kind of demonstration of his appreciation of the man. The giving and receiving of things had, in the past, been fraught for him. Things had happened with his mother to do with the receiving of gifts that had been so horrific that he had almost managed to convince himself that he’d forgotten about them completely. And Guizot had given him so much in terms of material goods – books and instruments and tools – that he would be forever in his debt.</p><p>And yet it had felt as if Nadir had turned his life around with a simple brioche – his giving was simple, and because of its simplicity it had seemed to Erik that it was something that he could learn to do. So his gift to Nadir would comprise of two parts: A list of all the pieces he would promise – not maybe! – to play to him, one evening, when he had dared to invite him to his room. And a box of macarons in <em>all the colours</em>.</p><p>That afternoon, Erik arrived at M. Mazanderani’s apartments near the Boulevard des Italiens in good time. He was inordinately pleased himself for being on time, having become increasingly chaotic in his timekeeping in recent weeks. He was received formally by a servant who took his hat and coat, and was shown up into a well-appointed first-floor apartment. And there was Nadir! He clenched his jaw in an effort not to grin inappropriately at Nadir who seemed to be studiously ignoring his gaze. He greeted Mazanderani and they all sat around a low table that was already set with things for coffee.</p><p>Erik felt a stupid excitement rising in his chest at being again the presence of Nadir, like this, with another person who knew nothing of their - what was it? – friendship? More than that surely? He had a wild desire to laugh with the secret of it but was kept in check mainly by looking at the expression of utter seriousness on Nadir’s face. There would be no subtle looks exchanged here. Nadir was a closed book.</p><p>They made brief and boring small talk over the coffee, Nadir playing the patient translator, and they moved quickly to the bigger table in the room, over which Erik was invited to spread his work. When he had emptied the folio, he took a step back and allowed Mazanderani to look at his work. Nadir was across the other side of the room, eyes cast down, unreachable. Erik forced himself to concentrate on his work on the table, waiting attentively to answer any questions the man might have.</p><p>There was a design for a new type of ratchet; an improvement on the pin-tumbler lock; ideas for achievement of flight building on the work of Cayley, a lovely design for a double helical staircase in metal and stone, inspired by the staircase at the Chateau de Chambord – he had been thrilled to run up and down that staircase when he and Guizot had come upon the place half abandoned and even more so when he was told that it might be work of da Vinci himself; a grand design for an acoustically superior concert auditorium, a funny little series of sketches for a room of mirrors that could be made to resemble a forest with the addition of a single iron tree – Erik didn’t know why he’d brought those along, everything else here at least had a use; a moving staircase powered by an electric motor; and some fantastical ideas for buildings using steel to enable them to reach a great height into the sky.</p><p>Mazanderani wanted explanations for how each of these worked, the theories and the mathematics behind them. He asked Erik to draw additional sketches as he talked and pushed Nadir’s understanding of technical Frenc; and Farsi to its absolute limits, meaning that much of what was explained was done so by Erik in the form of many additional quick, clear drawings, and mathematical formulae. They discussed theories of sound transmission, the way acoustic architecture might develop over the next few years, improvements that could be made to the electric motor and its uses, developments in the use of steel in construction, the application of Euler’s mathematics in structural engineering and his ideas of music theory, and Helmholtz’s work on human hearing and his theories on energy. Mazanderani was excellent scholar and Erik began to half-form notions of returning to him repeatedly to teach. Teaching!</p><p>At times, Nadir stood back and paused before he translated Erik’s words, as if to say, ‘I think you are making all this nonsense up.’ They were brought endless coffee which Erik drank until his hands shook. He had always experienced a kind of freedom in this world of ideas and theories; for him they were a perfect escapism, into the concretely abstract world of mathematics and structure, sound and music. If he could stay here, in his mind, all of the time, that would surely be no bad thing. It was his awful heart and his terrible body that were the things that he so fervently desired to be without, the things that caused him so many difficulties.</p><p>Finally, well into the evening and several hours after all the lamps had been lit, Mazanderani announced that it was time to stop. Nadir looked exhausted and told Erik rather grimly that next time he shouldn’t bring so many ideas along with him. Erik could only agree, his mouth dry with all that talking, his pulse hammering from all the coffee and now plagued by a desperate need to pee. Now that the talking was over, he felt a sudden need to escape the place. Nadir had continued to be unreadable and the absence of the distraction of the work meant Erik’s mind turned gleefully to wondering exactly what Nadir was playing at.</p><p>He gathered his work together as quickly as he could and as he was doing so Mazanderani took his leave, thanking him profusely, and left him alone in the room with Nadir. What he wanted to say to Nadir was<em> where have you gone?</em> But he wanted more than that was to show Nadir that he could be normal and behave normally, calmly and rationally, and so he said instead, trying to be normal, “you did well to keep up, do you think you managed it all?”</p><p>“Ah - I am sorry I was so cool with you Erik. I knew as soon as you arrived that you were - “</p><p>“-- going to let you down? Expose you? Christ, Nadir.” It was the first time he had ever notice Nadir looking anything other than deeply at ease with himself and with his surroundings. Nadir paused and looked intensely at Erik.</p><p>“It would not do. He is very keen to make a good impression on Parisian society. It would not do to have any kind of rumour or suspicion on his part that I am anything other than a respectable widower. Or any kind of rumour or suspicion on the part of his associates about the nature of his employees”</p><p>“Widower? You never said – “</p><p>“You never asked.” Nadir smiled and moved closer to Erik. “Don’t look down like that. Listen. I have a plan. Leave your work here. I will say to him that you wanted to leave it so that he could look through it again at his leisure. You leave and walk back towards the river. I’ll catch up with you – don’t walk too fast!”</p><p>“I thought you’d – I thought you were – “</p><p>“Stop thinking.” He scooped up Erik’s satchel and gave it to him. “Go!”</p><p>Within a couple of minutes, Erik was out on the street, his red scarf wound around his neck, his satchel slung over his chest. What he didn’t want was hours of walking. The excitement and pleasure of the afternoon were transforming into something unpleasant, and he felt nervous and jumpy; it had been hours since his last dose, and his nose and eyes were beginning to weep of their own accord. At least it was dark. He stopped in a place that he hoped wasn’t someone’s front door and relieved himself. And then he tried to walk slowly, hands in tight fists in his pockets, shoulders tense. How would Nadir even know where fuck he had gone?</p><p>Presently someone touched him lightly at his elbow. He flinched so hard that he almost broke into a run.</p><p>“Erik – it’s me.”</p><p>“Don’t do that! <em>Do not touch me!</em> Like that!”</p><p>“Oh! Calm yourself!” He laughed, “come on, we will walk.”</p><p>They walked in silence for a few minutes. Erik tried to pull himself together.</p><p>“Where would you like to go?” Nadir asked.</p><p>“I don’t want to walk. I want to sit.” He didn’t say <em>and drink</em>. He could feel himself descending into a deep misanthropy that he suspected, if he let it, might grow deep enough to include Nadir. Stop it! He tucked his hand into Nadir’s elbow in an effort to feel less like a nasty bastard and more like someone Nadir would want to spend time with.</p><p>“We could have something to eat?”</p><p>“Oh-no, no we couldn’t.”</p><p>And then quickly, as if impatient to avoid any further discussion, Nadir pulled him into the next café. They found a quiet table, Erik with his back to the rest of the place, Nadir, his back to the wall. They were served quickly; coffee Nadir, anis and water for Erik.</p><p>“More coffee? Do you not sleep?”</p><p>Nadir smiled at him, “I don’t drink alcohol. I am not religious but it is not something that I am accustomed to and see no reason to start now.”</p><p>Erik gave a little laugh of incredulity. “I don’t really know what to say. I can’t imagine not. Maybe you should start?” True, the anis would do nothing at all for his growing nausea but it might serve to keep him from running off into the night. He took a large swallow of the stuff and forced himself to lower his shoulders.</p><p>What he wanted almost above everything else, <em>almost</em>, was to be kind to Nadir, to show him just how grateful he was, for these past few days, even for today and for his patience. “I have something for you. It is, ah, a thing I thought you might like. Two things.” Oh God, what was he doing? Exactly what type of fool was he? “I know I said I might play you something, the other day. I wanted to let you know that I definitely will play you something. Next time. I have thought about the pieces and written them down. So you know. That I mean to.” He pulled the list from his pocket and pushed it across the table, and then he reached into his satchel for the macrons. “And I thought you might like these. I wanted to, ah, to say – thank you.” He looked down at his lap.</p><p>“Erik, this is very thoughtful of you. These past few weeks with you have indeed been very interesting. I will enjoy these now. Do you want one?”</p><p>“No - thank you.</p><p>“Nadir, I am sorry. About - the crying, and all of that -- I – I don’t usually behave like that - ” <em>Ah shut up, shut up. Are you going to tell him how fucking normal you are now? You’re not anywhere near normal, you mad fool. And why is it always about you?</em></p><p>Nadir put a whole macaron in his mouth. “I was glad I could be of assistance. Food always helps, I find.” He took another one. “These are so good!”</p><p>Erik smiled at Nadir and finished his drink; he knew was drinking too fast but the nausea and the nerves and the dreadful voice in his head were all growing more intense, despite his amusement at Nadir's macaron-eating technique.</p><p>“I was interested in what you were saying to my employer. He seems quite taken with you. And your ideas.”</p><p>“A rival for my affections, perhaps?”</p><p>“Ha – I should think not. He is a man in very urgent need of a wife. But I can understand entirely why he is taken with you. You should know, I think it is very important to tell you, <em>extremely important</em> – “</p><p>“What – spit it out!”</p><p>Nadir lowered his voice.</p><p>“That <em>you</em> - are very attractive when you talk like that about the things you know. Watching you talk to him this afternoon, I thought – any man who can talk like that, so knowledgeably about those things,” he leant forward somewhat to whisper dramatically in Erik’s ear, “is the man for me!”</p><p>Oh!</p><p>“Very attractive? Are you actually blind, Nadir? Are you one of those who says, ‘I love you for your mind’?”</p><p>“One of those? You have had many of those, have you?”</p><p>“Actually, <em>surprisingly enough</em>, I have. Well. One or two. Maybe one." He sniggered. "Let me tell you, it’s quite awful. ‘I love you for your mind’ – go away then!” He looked at Nadir suddenly full of dread, “don’t go away, will you? – I don’t care – if that’s what you want – “</p><p>“Erik, Erik – I say a nice thing to you and you turn it back on yourself. You should stop doing that. Immediately. I meant what I said as plainly as I said it. I thought it the first moment I saw you, in the office. And I’ve thought it ever since.”</p><p>“Mmm. I – I - am the same.”</p><p>Nadir smiled and looked at Erik’s empty glass. “Would you like another?”</p><p>“oh – yes, of course.”</p><p>Nadir called the woman over, and she quickly brought him a second glass. Erik found himself looking away from her as she came close to their table, and when she brought the second glass he immediately began to drink.</p><p>Despite Nadir’s efforts he could feel his mood slipping down again. He forced himself to smile, to say something normal and pleasant. “So – you said, earlier, that you are a widower?” <em>Ah, shit. That is not a pleasant thing</em>.</p><p>“Yes, Erik. I did say that.” Nadir’s face seemed to fall. “She was a beautiful woman. Her name was Rookheeya. She died in childbirth – and our son, Reza – he died three years ago. He was six.”</p><p>“Oh – I am very sorry to hear that. About them.” What conceivable thing could he say now? Nadir had had a son?</p><p>Nadir nodded. “It has been a sad time. I knew from early on that Reza would not be long for the world. He did not – he did not develop properly, he struggled to walk and soon after he started, he stopped. He was a lovely boy.”</p><p>They sat in silence for some minutes. Nadir apparently lost in his memories, and Erik wanting more than ever to run away. His whole body felt the way teeth do when suddenly exposed to cold air, and he could feel a drip of sweat running down his back. It took all his will to remain seated. What could he possibly find to say to a widowed man and bereaved father? Finally he pulled himself up from his self-inflicted pit and said, “you must miss them, very much?”</p><p>“Yes, I do. But with each passing year, I find that I grow into the grief. It, the grief – and they, will always be a part of me. I live with their memory and somehow they still live on. In me. The love I have for them. The pain of their loss is not as sharp as it once was, and that is alright.”</p><p>Erik looked at Nadir. He could not say anything. He felt immensely sad for him. And he realised with a shock that the sadness he felt was, perhaps for the first time in his pathetic little life, not for his own sake but purely for the sake of another person. And a thought occurred to Erik, luminous and bright, in the midst of all the ruination that was happening inside him; is this what it is like to be human?</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Nadir smiled at him again. He seemed to have shaken himself from his memories. “Would you like a another? It is still quite early.”</p><p>Run home or stay here with this man who was, with the simple fact of his being, was bringing him to the outer edges of humanity? And who had no idea how strong anis was.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Erik looked over his shoulder to watch as Nadir got up from the table this time. The café was filling up now with the workers from a nearby factory finishing a late shift. He turned away from them and hunched his shoulders. His hands were clammy and he gave a great ugly sniff in a vain attempt to deal with his running nose - nasal cavity, whatever the fuck it could be called. He hoped Nadir would return quickly. The dreadful voice in his head continued to shout <em>run run run run</em>!</p><p>When he did return, it was also with a huge bowl of roasted chestnuts.</p><p>“You like these, don’t you?”</p><p>Erik did indeed like them and felt amused that in all the history of people trying to get him to eat, Nadir was one of the only people to consider what he actually might be capable of eating. In such a situation. He took one and poured water onto the anis.</p><p>“Yes, Rookheeya and I were married young, both sixteen. We were very happy, Erik – but it took a long time for her to conceive. She was twenty when she finally came to be with child. She was twenty-one when Reza was born.”</p><p>“The same age as – “</p><p>“As you, yes. There’s an irony.” He gave a short laugh. “You and she are quite different, never fear! And I was left with our baby son.”</p><p>“What was that like?” Erik, who had no knowledge or experiences of <em>babies</em> whatsoever felt quietly appalled at the prospect of being left in the sole care of one. “Did you know what to do? With the – the baby?”</p><p>“I hired a nurse of course, and then I went to work and did my best to avoid the tragedy that was unfolding in my house. There was nothing to be done for him. His death was a slow and terrible thing to watch.” Nadir sighed deeply and passed his hand over his face. “Ah, God. My lovely boy.</p><p>“He died eventually, from a lung condition. But it was not a merciful death. It was terrible to watch. But it was swift. In the end. I lost my faith in God.”</p><p>Erik could think of nothing to say to Nadir that wasn’t trite or stupid, but he was very close to tears – for Nadir, for Reza, and for himself and just how terribly ill at ease he felt. Eventually he said, “I – it is – very sad. For you Nadir. That your son and your wife died. I find it hard to imagine. But listening to you talk – it is very sad.” He clenched his jaw.</p><p>“Yes, it was a tragedy, but it is something I live with. There is a peace about it now.” He gave a little smile. “And this is not what I expected to be talking about with you this evening!”</p><p>“It makes a change from talking about me all the time.”</p><p>They sat in silence for several minutes, somehow quite separate from the noise of those around them. Nadir finished his coffee.</p><p>“Have you finished? It is noisy in here. Shall we leave? Have another nut.”</p><p>Erik drained the last of the anis. “Yes. I have. Finished.”</p><p>They left payment on the table, put on their coats and Erik slung his satchel over his chest. The cold air when they stepped out onto the street had its usual stirring effect on Erik’s head and he was glad to grab hold of Nadir’s arm as they set off.</p><p>“Where shall we go now?” Nadir sounded cheerful and full of energy, evidently imagining another evening of walking and talking.</p><p>“I think - I think I would like to go home now, Nadir. I – er – I feel quite unwell.” <em>And drunk, you fool</em>.</p><p>“Ah – would you like me to walk you back? We could get a cab?”</p><p>“I will get a cab.” He couldn’t bear the idea of Nadir coming back with him, as much as he longed to remain in his company. He squeezed his eyes shut with the misery of it, the misery of what he needed to do that could only be done in solitude. “I don’t think I will be good company – if I ever was – this evening.” He yawned.</p><p>“Ah come now, you are tired. Let us walk to the main road and we will find you one there.”</p><p>They did so and soon Erik was slumped, eyes closed, in the back of a cab on his way home.</p><p>When he arrived back at the building of his apartment, he was tempted to run up the steps outside the front, and take the internal staircase two, three steps at a time. He chose, however, to have one last stab at trying to appear normal, and because of this, because of the great effort he put into<em> walking not running</em>, it gave Monsieur Hervé the opportunity to hand him a note. Erik, snatched it from him, muttered<em> thank you</em> under his breath and shoved the note down into his coat pocket. And there it would remain, unread, until the following morning.</p><p>Erik had other, far more pressing, things on his mind.</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I lost a morning reading about 19th century developments in physics and engineering trying to work out what Erik might have been thinking about in the early 1850s. I understood precisely none of it, and most of it didn't end up in the story. Physics is Erik’s bag, it is resolutely not mine. 19th century physicists were amazing in what they were discovering and in the breadth of their study, which is why I think it is entirely possible that Erik would have been knowledgeable in a wide range of subjects. Scientists didn't seem to specialise in the way they do now.</p><p>Much of the stuff I think he would have been REALLY interested in happened later in the 19th century (all that to do with the understanding of sound and its recording, and acoustics) and I hope that if he’d been able to stay on the straight and narrow he’d have been able to participate actively in some of those developments. </p><p>(It is a bit weird to hope things for a fictional character??)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Oranges</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>All sorts of things happen in this chapter. I think the most important thing is that Erik washes his hair.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Erik arrived at the practice the following morning utterly unaware of how he’d got there.</p><p>He had woken early, hungover and sick, and been helped somewhat by morphine and a mouthful of the cold meal Madame Hervé had left out for him the previous night. He chose again to walk, scarf wrapped tightly about his face, the freezing rain turning the streets to mud. As he set off, he’d thrust his hands deep into his pockets and there found the note he’d been given last night, screwed up into a tight ball. He’d stopped walking, taken inadequate shelter in a side alley and pulled the ball apart. The note was hand-written, unsigned.</p><p>It said:</p><p>
  <em>I will destroy you</em>
</p><p>It needed no name.</p><p>He slumped against the alley wall. He was made entirely of sand.</p><p>But he did not collapse. He stood still for a while, against the wall, and let the waves of terror wash over him, and then he vomited.</p><p>Maybe he would die?</p><p>He had until that very moment, almost forgotten about Rafael. In fact, he had not given the events of that evening a second thought, believing, in his naïve and stupid way that once that deed was done, Rafael would want nothing more to do with him. But of course, he had deeply underestimated the damage he could do not only with the revelation of his face, but also the revelation of his and Rafael’s predilections. The awful reality was that Rafael clearly had not been dealt with in any way at all, and his impulsivity on that night had made things far, far worse and was clearly going to cause a spectacular backlash in ways he could scarcely imagine. There was no chemical that could ever erase that reality.</p><p>When he recovered himself, he raced on through the sludgy streets, his mind turning and turning upon the thought of going to Rafael’s apartment this very evening and killing him. He’d lost himself so intensely in his murderous fantasy that he arrived at the practice hardly aware of having walked there at all, having planned out every aspect of the terrible deed in exacting detail. For what else could he do to escape from this man? What other solution could there be?</p><p>But when he arrived and took the steps to the entrance of the practice and came to his senses, and he mocked himself for the idiocy of his idea; he was not a murderer, no matter how murderous he felt. Any crime he committed now, under these circumstances, would inevitably be traced back to him – there would be no defence – only horrible public exposure. But surely it was better to confront Rafael and stop him than merely wait passively for him to take his revenge? The thought that any confrontation with Rafael this evening might feasibly end in murder was both horrifying and deeply thrilling. And he could not be sure that it would be Rafael who ended up dead.</p><p>Giradin greeted him with surprise and warmth believing, like they all would, that his earliness meant only good things. How wrong they all would be. He could barely speak to Giradin as they set about opening up the room before the rest of them arrived. What use would talking be? What could he possibly say in this state of extreme nervousness? He would never tell Giradin any of this, any more than he would ever show him his face. He wished he had brought the needle with him, for respite from his hammering heart and insane thoughts.</p><p>He was due to visit a site later in the morning, to check on the progress of the foundations of a large house to the west of the city. It was not his project – the man who had designed the place had been taken ill recently and with the sudden upturn in Erik’s rate of work, Giradin had assigned its completion to him. Erik usually enjoyed work on building sites. He enjoyed their energy and atmosphere of controlled chaos, and he had not yet outgrown his not-so-secret passion for running about on scaffolding. He was acquainted with the foreman, Marcourt, and liked him; he was a man who made rude and funny jokes about people they both knew and yet was reliable and competent.</p><p>But he would take no pleasure in the visit today. He was thundering through cycles of violent rage and utter terror. He chose again to walk – <em>run</em> – to the site rather than try to sit still in a ponderous cab, despite what the hapless clerk who had been assigned to go with him had wanted. He did not care who saw him and stared; he would wring the neck of any child who called out, right there in the street. The clerk ran several paces behind him.</p><p>The site inspection that he carried out could adequately be described as ‘brutal’. Erik had jumped from street level into the excavated basement, shouted at the nearest labourer to find Marcourt, who, it turned out, had been sheltering from the rain in a nearby bar, and when he arrived, Erik had run around the site critiquing – ‘berating’, the clerk later said to Giradin – Marcourt on every aspect of the work so far completed, from the precise angle of the retaining walls, the type of bricks that had been supplied, to the quality of the labourers that had been hired. He barked his observations at the clerk who struggled to keep up with the barrage of information that was coming at him and demanded instant answers from Marcourt.</p><p>Finally, Erik turned to Marcourt, who was looking far less amenable than he had at the start of the visit, “It is going well. You’re on time to finish this section by the end of next week. I will be back then.”</p><p>“You think it’s going well? You could have fooled me, the way you’ve been going on. You need to reign it and calm the fuck down.” He stomped away.</p><p>The clerk gave him a reproachful look and followed Marcourt up the walkway, leaving Erik alone in the muddy basement. He felt suddenly drained of the energy and bite that had so animated him this morning. He looked around him. A muddy basement seemed an entirely appropriate place for him to be at this moment in time and this thought made him cackle to himself.<em> You’re not normal, they all hate you. And you are going to be destroyed by Rafael!</em></p><p>He laughed even louder.</p><p>Erik walked back to the practice at a slower pace, despite the increasing rainfall. His mind went again to his plan to confront Rafael this evening and in some way, any way, end things between them forever; over and over he went between the desire to end Rafael himself and the equally strong desire not to be caught. The tension he felt was almost unbearable.</p><p>He was relieved to find the place was deserted when he arrived back at the practice. They had all gone out to lunch to celebrate being awarded another large contract. Erik had had a lot of influence over this contract but they had not invited him, knowing that he would refuse to join them. He went to his drawing board on which he found a note.</p><p>
  <em>Another fucking note.</em>
</p><p>Was his life to be completely dominated by people and their notes? Maybe Rafael planned to destroy him by sending him endless ominous letters? He felt a swell of hysteria in his chest and his hands shook as he picked it up and opened it.</p><p>It was from Nadir.</p><p>
  <em>I will be at yours at 8 o’clock this evening.</em>
</p><p>Erik clapped his hand over his mouth and gave a kind of sobbing laugh. He collapsed down onto his chair. Leaning forwards he held his head in his hands and gave in to the sob that had formed in his throat.</p><p>It was as if Nadir knew, somehow, that Erik needed to be saved, rescued from himself and the blackness of his heart, and the relief of knowing that there was now someone who could do this felt nothing short of a miracle. <em>Of course</em> he would not murder Rafael. <em>Of course</em> he would not go there. He would return home. He would be with Nadir. And maybe even forget Rafael again, just for this evening.</p><p>He sat up, recovering himself before anyone arrived to see him in this state, and he was able to lose himself in his work at the drawing board and did not notice until the room was full of noise and chatter that they had all returned from lunch.</p><p>It was dark as Erik walked home, and the rain had turned to a nasty sleet. He knew he would not, could not, tell Nadir of Rafael and what had happened between them. He was deeply ashamed of his actions that night in the bar, ashamed of his murderous thoughts and he didn’t wish to share that shame with anyone. And more than that, he was ashamed of all the – <em>interactions</em> - he had had with Rafael, the way they made him feel pathetic and weak, and he certainly didn’t want to share any of that with Nadir. He was sure Nadir had had quite enough of his <em>pathetic weakness</em> to last him a lifetime. No – Nadir would remain ignorant of it all; let him think he had had a lover, let him believe anything but than the truth of it. He would deal with whatever Rafael had planned for him on his own, as always.</p><p>Back in his room, he lit all the lamps, and all the candles along the windowsills; he prepared and lit a fire in the stove with some wood he’d bought on the way home, and some coal – an unusual luxury. He emptied the chamber-pot in the latrine at the end of the corridor, pulled the blankets up over his bed, and took the old uneaten plates of food down to Madame Hervé in her kitchen (“Monsieur, monsieur! You are so thin! What will I do with you! You must eat what I give you! What would your mother say!” and he had managed to smile at her and given a little bow and promised - henceforth! - to eat everything she ever brought him.)</p><p>He went back to his room and there he boiled some water and stripped naked to wash the grime of site off his hands and face and hair, and then found clean clothes, all the while trying to ignore the nasty mocking voice in his head that was his constant companion; <em>Who do you think you are, you ugly shit? You’re going to be destroyed!</em> It was almost as if Rafael had taken up residence in his head. A small-ish dose of morphine slapped the voice down a little and he felt finally able to cease his frantic activity and go to the darkened window by his bed to watch the street below for Nadir.</p><p>Nadir arrived at precisely eight o’clock and Erik felt that same knee-melting sense of relief that was now becoming familiar every time Nadir simply did something he said he would do. Erik swung open the door with a grin and invited him in. He wanted to bounce on his toes. “You came – I thought you might not – “<em> Shut up!</em></p><p>Nadir looked at him, askance. “Why did you think I wouldn’t come, you silly man? I said I would. You have no trust at all!” He was carrying a large bag.</p><p>Embarrassed, Erik laughed, “no, none at all. But I am glad – that you so rudely invited yourself. Like this.”</p><p>“Ah, my rudeness gets me everywhere, Erik.”</p><p>“Let me take your coat – and – why have you brought a bag with you? Please don’t tell me you’re intending to stay here?“</p><p>“I bought us some food. I didn’t think you would have any and I thought it might be a long night. We will need sustenance.” He gave Erik a little smile, putting the bag on the floor. Nadir took off his hat and coat and flung them over the desk chair.</p><p>“What, my dear Nadir, do you think we will be doing that will require <em>all this food</em>?” He felt his eyes widen with a mixture of delight and terror. <em>A long night?</em></p><p>“Well, it seems that you have a lot of violining to do. You have given me that great long list of pieces you said you would play to me. I intend to hear you play them. That will require fuel. And then after that – I thought we could – well, I am sure there are lots of things we could think of doing that might make us very – hungry.</p><p>Erik huffed a laugh. “You presumptuous little individual. What did you bring? I’m not eating any of it, you know.”</p><p>“We will see about that. I have seen you eat a nut, like a strange - bird. So I know that I can tempt you.” Nadir picked up the bag and went to the small sofa near the fire. He sat down and patted the seat for Erik to sit next to him.</p><p>“You are <em>entirely</em> presumptuous, sitting down uninvited.” Erik joined him, just close enough for their knees to touch, accidentally. He flushed with a sudden wild excitement.</p><p>“And you, Erik, are entirely – what is the word you use? – <em>bourgeois</em>. Waiting to be invited, indeed!” Nadir leant back and took in the room. “You lit a fire for me? And all these candles!”</p><p>“The fire is for the damp walls, <em>not you</em>, and I was reading before you came. I needed the light. What makes you so sure you can tempt me?”</p><p>Nadir laughed, “you might wear a mask, but I’ve seen things in your eyes, when you look at me, that are unspeakable, which makes me think that you will be very easy to tempt – “ He pressed his leg against Erik’s.</p><p>“You flatter yourself. I probably just needed a shit.” <em>Good god, what are we both doing?</em></p><p>Nadir laughed again. “Perhaps you think of yourself as mysterious?”</p><p>“I’m certainly more mysterious than you and your great big bag of food. Why did you invite yourself here this evening?”</p><p>“Do you need to ask?”</p><p>Erik paused and looked down.<em> I always need to ask</em>. “Tell me, what’s in the bag?”</p><p>“Ah you see, you want to know, even as you insist you don’t want any of it. I have many extraordinary things in here.” Nadir reached into the bag, and he did so he moved so that they were sitting very close to each other. “What have I got? Two oranges. From Sevilla! Here, smell them.” He put them close to Erik’s face, who dutifully sniffed them.</p><p>“How lovely, yes. Orangey. You are hoping to tempt me with oranges?”</p><p>“Ah - I have a bottle of wine for you. And tea, for me. We can boil some water?” Nadir pressed his thigh firmly against Erik’s.</p><p>“Yes, yes – do you want it now?” He went to stand up.</p><p>“No, stay here. Later.” He placed his hand lightly on Erik’s knee as if merely to keep him still. “Cheese! The blue one and the soft one.”</p><p>“Don’t make me smell them – “</p><p>“And here’s a big – loaf! And butter. I love your French butter.“ Nadir looked at Erik and smiled broadly. He reached back into the bag. “Two apples. And – a cake!”</p><p>“You’ve brought yourself quite the feast Nadir. I think you might have to try harder than buying me tea and oranges. But thank you for the wine.” The continued press of Nadir’s thigh and his hand upon his knee were an awful, delicious torment; how quickly all this was happening. How soon would come the inevitable request to remove the mask?</p><p>“Will I?”</p><p>Erik looked at Nadir’s hand and tried to remember how this sort of thing went. He had no idea, really, despite having known Rafael. Was this what it was like? For other people? Subtle - <em>not at all subtle!</em> - and gentle and funny and thrilling?</p><p>Suddenly he was unable to bear it. He jumped up, terrified of what might happen next. “I’ll find the corkscrew. And boil some water for tea.” He grabbed the tea tin and the bottle and made for the stove.</p><p>“Wait, Erik – before you start on the wine – you made your promise to play those things on your violin.”</p><p>Erik turned and looked at Nadir who seemed distinctly pleased with himself.</p><p>Christ. Would he be able to remember how to play, in this state? “Really? Now?” He looked at the bottle, almost mournfully.</p><p>And then Nadir took the neatly folded list from his pocket, with a flourish. He’d come prepared.</p><p>“Yes! Now! I know none of these. Some of them are yours, are they not?”</p><p>“Ah – not mine – not yet.”</p><p>Nadir looked at him strangely. “Alright, I will choose one with a name.“ He made a show of choosing. “Paganini!”</p><p>“Oh, <em>Paganini</em>.” He put his hand to his chest and gave a little bow. “Thank you from the depths of my soul, Nadir. Why couldn’t you have chosen Biber?”</p><p>“Paganini. Or I go home.”</p><p>Erik laughed. He rolled up his sleeves and got his violin from the desk and tuned her, standing away from Nadir, by the windows. “You know, Paganini was said to have sold his soul to the devil to play like this. Women at the concerts he gave would faint with lust when they heard him. I am warning you; don’t faint. That would be most inconvenient.”</p><p>“You have given yourself quite the introduction, Erik. I will do my best not to faint with lust like the ladies.”</p><p>“Ha. I have more ways than Paganini to make people faint.”</p><p>He lifted the violin to his chin and put the bow to the strings, all the while looking directly at Nadir who returned his gaze as intensely, never once looking away.</p><p>Erik played with great speed, and with enough virtuosity to rival the great man himself. Bow-hairs came loose, his shirt came untucked and the passion of the music, of his playing, seemed a direct expression of the intensity of the desire he felt for Nadir, things that were indeed unspeakable, an outpouring, exquisite note building upon exquisite note, more and more, faster and faster, ever higher, a pulsating release of ecstatic sound, rhythmic and insistent and wild and free.</p><p>And when he finished playing, he brought his arms down to his sides, violin in his left hand, bow in his right, open and ready, breathing fast. Nadir held his gaze. And he knew what Nadir wanted, and oh god, it was what he wanted too, and then Nadir was upon him, his arms round his waist, mouth perilously close to his, breath mingled with his, his smell, his warmth. Nadir pressed himself against his hips and Erik could feel him, right there.</p><p>“Erik, you are a rare jewel,“ he breathed. “I should very much like to kiss you now. But first - you must give me permission - to remove your mask.”</p><p>Erik shut his eyes. What was he doing? He was a stupid, stupid man, so easily caught up in the music and the firelight, and Nadir’s beautiful eyes. And yet in his embrace, and with his voice so low, he could feel himself moving in response. This was what Erik had wanted, more than anything, from the first moment he saw him. How terrible it would be to refuse and never to know. How terrible it would be to reject Nadir now, for the sake of his fear.</p><p>“Yes. You may.”</p><p>Still pressed very close, Nadir reached up and deftly untied the mask. He took it gently from Erik’s face. Erik did his best not to screw his eyes up, knowing that would make it all so much worse and he bit his lower lip and listened to Nadir’s breathing, waiting for the gasp that would surely come with the horror of it.</p><p>Nadir’s breath remained steady and even.</p><p>And then Nadir’s arms were holding him again, and Nadir’s lips touched to his own, the lightest of kisses, a brief wonder of skin against skin. And then again he returned and put his lips to Erik’s, firmer now, soft and warm, and Erik needed to respond, to communicate his want and he pushed back against Nadir.</p><p>Erik’s hands began to tremble. He dropped the bow, and Nadir pulled away briefly to take the violin from him and carefully placed it on the desk. And then he returned to embrace Erik’s waist, pulling him in, hands moving up his back.</p><p>“Can you open your eyes?”</p><p>Erik did so. He saw that Nadir’s eyes were wide and searching. There was no disgust in his face, or fear. Erik brought his arms to gently encircle Nadir’s hips, revelling in his warmth and solidity, amazed that he could do this.</p><p>Nadir, still looking into Erik’s eyes, returned for a third kiss, deeper now, tongue against lips, parting them, against tongue, more insistent and ah god, it was too much – and low rumble started in his throat that transformed all too quickly into a great and terrible sob; this was utterly overwhelming – being seen, being kissed, and so tenderly, three times; this embrace. Erik broke from the kiss and buried his face in Nadir’s shoulder and wept, waves of shame and desire and fear and pleasure taking him so that he felt almost unable to stand.</p><p>And all the while Nadir pulled him into a tight embrace and stroked the back of his head.</p><p>When, finally, his breathing slowed and he felt somewhat calmer, Nadir gently pushed him from his chest, holding his shoulders, Erik could not look up and meet his gaze. An awful crushing disappointment for wanting so much and then failing at it all so terribly.</p><p>“Erik – I am sorry for – “</p><p>Erik gasped “No, no – it’s not you – “ he released himself from Nadir and went to his desk chair and picked up an old shirt with which to wipe his face. “Will you pass me the mask?”</p><p>Nadir picked it up from the floor and passed it to him. “You don’t need to wear it, it is – it is – not necessary – here.”</p><p>Erik gave a kind of sobbing laugh.</p><p>“Why don’t we sit down?” Nadir said.</p><p>Erik pressed the old shirt hard against his eyes. <em>Stop fucking crying.</em> Would there ever be a time when he wouldn’t ruin everything? When he wouldn’t humiliate himself with so much excessive emotion. He was no sort of man at all.</p><p>Eventually he took a deep breath and looked at the mask in his hand and then glanced back at Nadir who was now sitting on the floor in front of the stove, rekindling it and adding some more coal. He needed to put the mask on, to try to return to a sense of normality, to stop feeling so exposed and raw, but there was another feeling too; what harm would he do by continuing to hide? Nadir had seen his face and then kissed him, not once, but three times, and he had not laughed or run away or said it was a joke. These thoughts almost made him sob again, but he chose not to replace the mask and instead made his way to the stove and sat down, side by side, with Nadir.</p><p>Erik drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. About that. It all took me – rather by surprise.” He covered his face with his hands. Again, he dug the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I keep crying in front of you. I hate myself for it. I expect you will think I am leading you on.” He hugged his knees up to his chest. From the corner of his eye, he could see Nadir smile, his brown skin golden in the light of the fire.</p><p>“It is alright. You took me by surprise with your violin-playing. It was extraordinary.”</p><p>Erik smiled. “I told you not to faint. It seemed to have had quite the opposite effect on you.“</p><p>They sat in silence for a while watching the firelight, enjoying its warmth. Erik wondered how bizarre Nadir must be finding this, must be finding him. He wondered when Nadir would make his excuses and go to leave. Had he re-built the fire out of pity?</p><p>Eventually Erik broke their silence. “I’m sorry about my face. I am not used to being – ah – kissed – when I show it to people. That was – that was the – first time – I had been – you know – by anyone, Nadir. You kissed me three times – maybe you have lost your mind? Maybe you thought I’d magically change into something handsome if you tried three times.” He huffed a little laugh.</p><p>“I was very aware of what I was doing. Why would I want you to change? You are unique.”</p><p>“Unique? You idiot man - what are you talking about? Unique! You realise people usually scream? Don’t you want to ask me about it? What went wrong?”</p><p>“People scream? At your face?”</p><p>Erik instinctively turned away. What could he possibly tell Nadir? Why had he even mentioned the<em> fucking</em> screaming? Did he want Nadir to feel pity for him as well as revulsion? What was this pathetic need for attention?</p><p>He put his head on his knees, still looking away from Nadir. “I used to be in a - a situation. Where screaming at me – my face – was encouraged. People. They paid. To see it. Don’t look at me.” He shut his eyes in shame. He felt suddenly light-headed.</p><p>He felt Nadir move closer and put his hand gently on Erik’s shoulder. “My God, Erik – when was this?”</p><p>“It stopped about ten years ago. Do you remember I told you about that man? Who I said had changed my life? He found me.” He hid his face in his arms, his hands in tight fists, he could hardly bear to admit it. “In a – in a – <em>sideshow</em>. Of a travelling fair.”</p><p>“But why? Who allowed this? You were a child!”</p><p>Erik looked up. “Oh, it was my own fault, Nadir. I ran away. I stupid enough to be caught by the man. My mother was going to put me in a lunatic asylum. I had to leave.” He dared himself to look directly at Nadir.</p><p>“You ran away from your home and were put in a sideshow and people paid money to see your face? I can hardly comprehend it. What a monstrous thing to have done to you – “</p><p>“Monstrous? Yes, I suppose it was. Though they said I was the monster.” Was he the monster? He was never really sure. Erik paused. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever told about this. Apart from Guizot. I try not to think about it. Put it from my mind.” There was a strange kind of relief in this confession. But that horrible feeling returned; perhaps he would talk and talk and never stop, that he would scare Nadir away with his disgusting tales to go with his disgusting face. <em>Shut up now!</em></p><p>Nadir was still looking at him with that strange intense look he’d seen earlier. Erik wondered if he was about to cry. Ah, it would even things out a bit.</p><p>“Don’t look at me like that. It is long since finished.”</p><p>Nadir shook his head. “Is this why you will not eat in public?”</p><p>Erik stared back. Could he tell him? It wasn’t even the worst of it. “Yes.”</p><p>He shut eyes. And he was there again in the cage, that first time he was made to do it. The man had had an idea – he always had little ideas, ways in which to torment Erik, ways to threaten him, sometimes they were laughable, even then, but sometimes they made him urinate with fear and humiliation – and this idea was one of those. There was a late-night crowd, drunk and raucous, who would pay money to see things that the daytime crowd would have been too - the man had said ‘uptight’ to see. That night the man had woken Erik from his sleep. It was quite soon after he had been caught and he was still desperately sad and still hoping that his mother would somehow find him and take him away. He had been shoved onto the stage unmasked, and in his tired confusion he had to stop himself from crying with the noise of the crowd, even as he was in front of them. The man had hit about the head with a sharp blow and then slid his food onto the floor in front of him. The man, drunk himself, had shouted at the crowd that Erik had been an extremely bad corpse and his punishment was to eat on the stage. And the crowd had roared with laughter, and Erik had been almost unable to comprehend what was expected of him – and so the man had grabbed him and whispered very close, spittle on his cheeks, <em>eat now or I will set you on fucking fire</em>. And Erik had pissed himself and obeyed and the crowd had screamed in disgust and howled as if he, or they, were dogs –</p><p>“Erik, Erik – are you alright?”</p><p>Erik gasped again as if surfacing from a dive and opened his eyes. Nadir had his hand on his shoulder again and was looking at him, his eyes full of something - what was it? - something like worry, or worse than that – surely he would leave now? Would he ever stop looking at him?</p><p>“Yes – I – I am - ” He felt odd and numb.</p><p>Nadir patted Erik’s shoulder and got to his feet. “I will make the tea. Would you like some wine? I think we could both do with something.”</p><p>Erik didn’t really know what he wanted, there was a sense of not really being there. Could a person drink wine when they were only nine years old?</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He sat and watched as Nadir went about the place boiling the kettle, finding the corkscrew and glasses, and a plate, bringing his picnic to the floor in front of the stove, pouring the wine, making the tea, all the while talking to Erik, asking where to find things, keeping up a constant flow chatter and gradually Erik was brought him back to himself and he remembered who he was and where he was and how to be.</p><p>When he had finished his preparations, Nadir sat down, side by side with Erik, and passed him the wine – Erik noticed with regret that the bottle was kept out of his immediate reach – and began to cut up the oranges. The air was filled with their glorious orange smell and, despite it all, Erik took a piece when it was offered to him, the juice tasting like its colour, like the sun.</p><p>And they sat there together, for several hours, in the warmth of the stove. Sometimes they sat in silence, sometimes they talked. And almost without noticing he was doing it, Erik was able to eat the things that Nadir gently offered him, and there was in him the beginnings of the understanding that eating together was not the same as being watched for grim entertainment, and that it at the very least it could be tolerated, with Nadir. Perhaps this was the beginning of trust, perhaps this is what trust feels like?</p><p>Eventually they grew tired and Erik found the courage to touch Nadir’s fingertips and say that it was late and maybe he would like to stay, there was room, if he wanted. And Nadir had smiled and said he would stay, and they kissed again, deep and long, and this time there was no crying, which was a blessed relief to Erik.</p><p>They lay together in his bed in the dark, and at last Erik turned away from Nadir for he could not bear to lie with him so close while unmasked, and Nadir wrapped himself around his body, along his back and around his chest in an embrace that was to Erik an extravagance of feeling, an ecstasy of sensuousness, the likes the of which Erik had never previously imagined, far less experienced. And although he was unable to sleep so entwined and had to move away from Nadir after he was sure he was sleeping, Erik eventually slept and his sleep was free, for once, from nightmares.</p>
<hr/><p>But this little dream was not to last long and Erik woke the following morning in the grey winter light, sweating and ill and once again trampled with the anxiety of knowing that no matter what he and Nadir did there was now always the problem of Rafael and his terrible threat. Maybe today would be the day he was to be destroyed?</p><p>Erik got up from their bed as quietly as he could so as not to disturb Nadir. He sat on the edge and allowed himself to look upon Nadir’s face, peaceful and innocent. He traced Nadir’s lips with his fingertips, not quite touching them, feeling his breath. What a wonderful thing it was that Nadir was in his life, in his bed, good god it seemed miraculous, and how awful it was that he was now certain to lose it all in whatever Rafael had planned for him.</p><p>His mood plummeted as he gathered together what he needed in the cold half-light, the stove having long since gone out, the creeping tendrils of despair, fear and misery that wrapped themselves once more around his heart, those terrible binds that had plagued him for as long as he could remember. And they twisted ever tighter, fed by the knowledge that despite Nadir’s presence, despite his – whatever it was, the word he did not want to admit to himself because surely it was too soon, the word that he knew might very well be – love, despite this, he was still held captive by fear and misery, and he knew that it would all soon be lost.</p><p>And so misery, despair and fear combined to once again contract his heart, squeezing the colour from it so that all that was left was a kind of dark rage.</p><p>He sat at his desk, his back to the bed where he hoped Nadir still lay sleeping, and tried his arms for a vein. None were forthcoming. He tried his wrists and then his feet, all the while knowing that he was running out of time before Nadir awoke and -</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>Erik froze. “Nothing,” he lied.</p><p>“Mmm.”</p><p>Erik didn’t dare turn to look at Nadir.</p><p>Nadir spoke again. “Aren’t you cold, sitting there? Why don’t you get some clothes on?”</p><p>“I’m not cold.”</p><p>He heard Nadir shift in the bed.</p><p>“I’ve been awake for a while. I know what you’re doing.”</p><p>“Why did you ask then?”</p><p>“Mmm.”</p><p>“Go back to sleep.”</p><p>Nadir chuckled softly, “you will not find a vein when your arms and hands are cold. Come and get back into bed. I will warm you up. Then you can try again.”</p><p>Erik pulled his hand roughly over his face and sighed. “What do you know about this Doctor Khan?” Was it worse to have been found out doing this or to be the object of Nadir’s <em>unending kindness?</em> He gritted his teeth and said nothing more.</p><p>“Bring the needle with you.”</p><p>At this, Erik stood up. The pit of dread and nausea in his stomach was growing. He looked at Nadir who was lying on his back, hands behind his head, eyes shut, entirely at peace. He moved quickly so that Nadir would not see the whole of him, fully and horribly exposed. He placed the needle on the windowsill at the head of the bed, and got in. With resignation, Erik extended the length of his bony body along the generous expanse of Nadir’s, arm draped over his chest, left leg over both of Nadir’s, enjoying the warmth of Nadir’s body, despite his unease.</p><p>“Agh, you are<em> freezing</em>! Your feet! Are you sure you are alive?” Nadir laughed, “are you sure you are not a corpse?”</p><p>Erik gasped, “<em>don’t say that</em>!” He recoiled in horror and all but fell out of bed. He landed in a crouch, a bloom of loathing in his chest. He jumped up, snatched the needle and shouted again as he lurched away, “don’t <em>fucking</em> say that Nadir!” He came to halt at the small sofa the other end of the room, sat down, the needle beside him and began furiously re-examining his arms for a suitable vein.</p><p>Nadir sat up and sighed. “Sorry, sorry. Sorry. Listen. It is so cold in here. You can’t sit there and do – that. Come back to bed. I will try not to say – the stupid things again.”</p><p>“Maybe you should just go.” And then under his breath, with the anger and the shame of it, “<em>va te faire enculer</em>.”</p><p>“Go - ? What - ? What if I don't want to go?”</p><p>“Do what you want.”</p><p>“All right. I will do what I want.” Nadir stood and pulled on his undergarments. He went to Erik and took him by the hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come on you, you terror. I am going to hug you and your awkward veins.” He tugged Erik back to the bed, pushed him down into it, and got in beside him, pulling the blankets over them both. Nadir wrapped Erik in his legs and arms and muttered, “you are a very cold man, Erik, you really are.”</p><p>Erik lay in Nadir's arms, eyes shut, in a misery of conflict. Being enveloped like this – it felt good and warm – of course he had been cold - and it was reassuring, and the fact that Nadir refused to go away was a wonderful and remarkable thing, but he couldn’t really enjoy it, this lovely gift, because he felt so bloody awful and wrong. Nadir was moving his hands all over Erik’s body in a way that anyone else would have found sensuous and would have induced movement - but not in him, not now and that thought filled made him more miserable than ever. Maybe he was dead. Eventually Nadir’s efforts slowed and he took one of Erik’s arms and looked at it, matter of factly.</p><p>“There, that’s better. Open your eyes Erik. What do you think? I will fetch to the – stuff.”</p><p>Erik looked. It did seem more promising.</p><p>What was this man doing to him? Was this some kind perversion of Nadir’s? Would it matter if it was? Nadir returned with the stuff, why wouldn’t he call it by its name? and Erik sat up, and quickly took advantage of his borrowed warmth.</p><p>Some minutes later, Erik looked up at Nadir who was sitting on the bed, his face full of concern, and said, “I don’t like you watching.”</p><p>“Well then, you shouldn’t do it in front of me. Do you feel better now?”</p><p>Erik gave a little laugh. “For now.”</p><p>“Do you think you’ll stop?”</p><p>“Why would I want to? I think I’ve only just begun.”</p><p>Nadir raised his eyebrows. “It makes you ill – “</p><p>“Yes but, Nadir – it <em>works</em> so marvellously! Apart from the itchiness. And the sickness.” He laughed.</p><p>“It sounds horrible.”</p><p>“Mmm. Maybe. Maybe you should try it one day?” Erik smiled. “Come on, let’s get you – us! - something to eat.”</p>
<hr/><p>This is what Erik plays to Nadir <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6cfWJop0LZ0">Niccolò Paganini: Caprice No. 24 In A Minor</a> played by <span class="style-scope yt-formatted-string">James Ehnes. </span><span class="style-scope yt-formatted-string">It is how I imagine Erik would have sounded (but not looked!)</span></p><p>
  <span class="style-scope yt-formatted-string">And this is the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCsVEsQlm7o">same piece played by David Garrett</a> from the film The Devil's Violinist. It's a bit of a hoot because David is being all sexeh with the ladies like Paganini would have been.  I think that Erik had the same effect on Nadir.  Without an orchestra.<br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I just want to say thank you for all the comments that you've written about this so far.  It's been amazing to read what you think of this effort. I really appreciate the time you take to both read it and let me know what you think.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Horses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>No one knows what is happening.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Now with (a tiny bit) of added smut. Smut-esque. :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They parted that morning after coffee together in the place over the road.</p><p>Erik was amused to notice that Madame-of-the-café was now treating Nadir like a potential son-in-law, enquiring as to his well being, giving him extra jam and pushing her silent doleful daughter, who was ever present, ever watchful, towards them to serve their coffee, and regarding Erik as if he was unwanted intruder. For once, even that amused him.</p><p>Their goodbye was marked by a lingering touch of their hands outside in the street – Erik was possessed by a sudden urge to reach up and kiss Nadir passionately on the mouth – but he managed to restrain himself for the sake of propriety - and to avoid being arrested. They had quietly agreed that Nadir would come to Erik’s apartment again this evening, but a little earlier - the café was full, they kept their voices low, no one would hear - and that maybe they would eat together, maybe they would walk for a while, maybe they would do all kinds of other things, maybe, maybe. And the possibilities seemed sweet and ripe and endless, a full summer’s day in the middle of winter.</p><p>As they walked away from each other, Erik felt a strange pride that Nadir still knew nothing of Rafael and perhaps he never would and the shame of it, and that his messy weeping heart had not, by accident, divulged this one particularly awful secret.</p><p>Walking to the practice the anticipation of the coming moment of his destruction became an exquisite tension; his hands were tight fists, his shoulders rigid, jaw clenched. Rafael hung over him like Damocles’ sword, held aloft on a single hair above his head, waiting to fall, a terrible ripeness.</p><p>During the day, at his drawing board, Erik buried his heart and mind in the work. He worked in a fierce silence, Paul having long since given up on interrupting him, and during a meeting with a contractor – not Aurand – he spoke quickly and the instructions he gave to the man were torrential in their intensity. He noticed Giradin looking at him quizzically and after the contractor left, he asked Erik to remain in his office.</p><p>“Are you alright? You seem more wound up than ever, Erik.” He sat down at his desk, leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “I think he struggled to follow you.”</p><p>Erik was not alright. “He should have concentrated.” He placed his hand on the door-handle as if to leave.</p><p>“Wait. Stay here a minute. Is there anything I can help you with? I’ve noticed that you’ve been particularly silent recently, or particularly - frenetic. Nothing in between.”</p><p>Erik stared at him. “I am alright. There is nothing you can help me with.”</p><p>“Are you sure? You’ll find me a very open-minded man.” Erik almost laughed.</p><p>“Thank you, <em>David</em>. I am amused that you think I have a problem of such a nature that would necessitate you being <em>very open-minded</em> in order to help me. Can I leave now? I have work to do.”</p><p>Giradin sighed and leaned forward. “You need to stop menacing the contractors. And I heard about yesterday with Marcourt. He is a good foreman. It is one thing to be efficient and confident. It is quite another to offend people. We go on reputation and your reputation now precedes you – for good and bad. I don’t want you to piss everyone off with your, your – <em>you-ness</em>. I want them to know you for the excellent practitioner that you are. But I shall have to keep you from site visits if this continues.”</p><p>Erik looked down at the floor. He felt his ears go red in embarrassment and a bead of sweat loosed itself and ran down his back. He wanted very badly to run home. “But I told him it was going well.”</p><p>“Quite possibly, but it’s not what you say, it is the way you say it. Have you ever thought of that?”</p><p>Erik said nothing.</p><p>Giradin sighed again. “Listen. My door is always open to you, Erik. My wife – and I – would love to have you to dinner. One evening. I have told her a lot about you. She is intrigued by you.”</p><p>Erik gave him a sideways look. “I would like to leave.” He was unsure whether he meant the room, his work, or his entire life. He opened the door, and mustered up all his civility, “but thank you. For the invitation.”</p><p>“Very well.”</p><p>Erik endured another two hours at the practice and left with the rest of them at five o’clock. By this time, the tension he had felt all day had grown into a full-grown dread, mixed with high anticipation at the prospect of spending all evening – and maybe all night? – with Nadir. There was still nothing from Rafael. The sword still hung above his head. Dear god, he had to get home to the needle to kill this excess of awful feeling.</p><p>Back in his room, thanks to the exertion of the journey home, a vein was mercifully easy to find, and afterwards he set about preparing the place for Nadir’s arrival with something approaching pleasure; he was able to eat the remaining apple and the last of the cheese, and lit all the lamps and the candles, and made a beautiful fire in the stove – the cost of the wood be damned. And when he had finished his preparations, he sat on his desk to wait, feet on the chair and plucked his violin as if it were a small guitar, and sang a little song to himself, very quietly.</p><p>Nadir did not arrive at seven o’clock, as he had said he would.</p><p>Eight came and went, and nine, and there was still no sign of Nadir.</p><p>At a quarter past nine, Erik put on the mask and went and stood outside on the steps of the building, in his shirt sleeves, in the gentle snow, and watched the quiet street. No one was there and the silence of the place only accentuated Nadir’s absence.</p><p>But Monsieur Hervé was there, as ever. “Are you waiting for your friend?”</p><p><em>Christ almighty</em>, was he always so obvious? “No. I came down for air.”</p><p>He turned and went back inside. As he reached his room, he let himself have the terrible realisation; that Rafael’s threat to destroy <em>him</em> would mean first destroying <em>Nadir</em>.</p><p>He shut the door behind him and leant up against it, finding himself fighting for breath. He tore off the mask, but then covered his face with his hands, almost as if to prevent himself from seeing what he so clearly saw in his heart; that this morning’s predictions of doom were all correct and that he was about to lose everything. His hands moved to his hair and he grasped clumps of it in his fists and pulled, hard, and as he did so he felt a great howl come from his chest. What could he possibly do? Go and find Nadir? Search the streets for him? Stand outside his apartment? Lie on the floor and weep? Kill Rafael? Beg him not to touch Nadir? And surely it was all too late?</p><p>He couldn’t remain here and simply wait for Nadir not to come, he couldn’t. He had to get out of here. He grabbed his coat and hat, and his scarf, grabbed the half-finished bottle of wine from last night and drained it empty down his throat, and then raced around his room putting out all of the lights, thinking grimly to himself that if he had a way with words that this would be some kind of metaphor. He replaced the mask almost as left his room, ricocheted back down the stairs and out into the night.</p><p>Erik went north, over the river. It was an especially cold night and there were few people out on the streets other than the strays and the drunks and the truly desperate, and in a rare moment of fellow feeling, he realised that he too was one of them. The rush of the wine gave him great energy and his mind was a whirl with all that might have happened to Nadir, how he could possibly stop Rafael, and above all how utterly foolish he had been not to have <em>murdered</em> Rafael when he’d first thought of it. And beyond that, how he’d brought all this misery upon himself and that this was fate was only something he clearly deserved; at the heart of it, he was the agent of his own destruction.</p><p>And yet, all the while there was hope in his heart, and he almost expected to meet Nadir on the road, coming the other way, laughing at him for being in such a ridiculous panic, saying that it was simply because his employer had asked him to stay later; at every corner Erik expected to see him, and at every corner he did not.</p><p>He arrived at the Boulevard des Italiens, and then the building where Nadir lived, much sooner than he’d expected. All the windows were dark, curtains drawn. There was no way to tell if Nadir was there sleeping in his bed, entirely unaware of the danger he was in –<em> the danger Erik thought he was in</em> - or if he had already met some terrible fate at the hands of Rafael. Or someone that Rafael had hired. The thought of it made him shudder.</p><p>The concierge was still at his post. Erik stood across the street and stared at him. He couldn’t possibly try to get access to the apartment through him, the door was locked and he was in no mood to overpower an old man – and what if he did? He couldn’t possibly go and beat on the apartment door himself. He thought, wildly, of climbing up to the second floor to look in but the building was austere in its architecture and there were few places he could gain a foothold, and much less do it inconspicuously. And then he realised with a laugh at himself that he could <em>attempt</em> to behave normally like any other man and ask him at the door to take a message up to Nadir.</p><p>Erik approached the concierge and asked quietly if he could take a message to Monsieur Khan, who lives on the second floor, and paid him a sou for his time. Soon the man returned.</p><p>“Was there any reply?”</p><p>“The household are all asleep. I left the note with the maid.”</p><p>“At this hour? It is not yet eleven!”</p><p>The man looked at him, impassively. “You can wait here until they all wake up. Or you can come back tomorrow. They are asleep. Nothing for you.” He went back to his little booth and shut the window.</p><p>Erik stood in the snow that was falling heavily now. Would he wait here all night? He had no way of knowing what had happened to Nadir and the absence of knowledge felt like an endless black void in his soul. He had no way of knowing for certain what Rafael was doing; all his thoughts on the matter were pure conjecture. Both of them – Nadir and Rafael – exacting this torment upon him purely by their silent absence.</p><p>He turned up the collar of his coat against the snow and began the long walk home through the dark streets. He reflected, with revolting self-pity, that much of his life had been characterised by the absence of others. The absence of his mother throughout much of his childhood – absences that were punctuated by her frightening outbursts of anger and grief whenever she seemed to remember his presence in the house; the absence of his father, spoken of by his mother in only the most reverent of terms, who was, according to her, the exact opposite of everything Erik was; when he was with the man in the fair, the absence – the absence of absolutely everything really; and then with Guizot – he had given Erik so much, given him his life, and yet had remained a closed book to Erik, a stone of a man, the absence of feeling.</p><p>By the time he arrived home he was a mood that was as black as ever his moods could be. He went straight for the needle and the bottle of morphine. How he hated that the only answer he now had was to be found here, in this way. What would normal men do in such a situation? What would Nadir do? Not this, for certain, he was better than this. He had only used it once before to lose himself and that had almost ended in disaster, although an end such as that would not seem too disastrous this evening. Usually he took just enough to keep away the sickness, to enable himself to work and function normally, but this evening would be different.</p><p>So, he got into bed, prepared the syringe and found a vein, pushed the needle in and soon the world became soft, his thoughts hazy and there was a vague idea that it would be a wonderful thing to stay here, curled up and numb like this, for the rest of his life.</p>
<hr/><p>Erik arrived late at the practice the following morning.</p><p>There was still no word or sign from either Nadir or Rafael, and he had again used too much morphine to mask the panic and misery that he felt immediately upon waking. He took a cab to the practice and within twenty minutes of arriving, Giradin had called him into his office.</p><p>“Erik, sit down.”</p><p>Erik flopped into the chair in front of Giradin’s desk.</p><p>“What is the matter with you? You look like you’ve been dragged from a ditch.”</p><p>“Nothing. I’m tired.”</p><p>“Have you been home since you left here last night? You seem to be wearing the same clothes as yesterday.”</p><p>He looked down at himself. “Oh. Do I?”</p><p>“I asked you yesterday if I can help you. Now I am demanding to know what is going on. Why are you in this state? It’s getting worse. <em>You’re </em>getting worse.”</p><p>Erik wrapped his arms about his chest, in less a gesture of sulking, more as if to hug himself. He felt utterly miserable. “I can’t tell you.” He shut his eyes.</p><p>“Why not? So there is something?”</p><p>“It’s none of your business.”</p><p>“It is my business when it leaves you – behaving like this - here. You should go home today, sort yourself out and come back tomorrow when you’re - you’re feeling better.”</p><p>Erik looked up Giradin. A sudden panic seized him. “Please don’t make me go home. I don’t think – I don’t think – it would be helpful. Please let me stay here – I’ll – I’m - ” <em>Don’t cry</em>. He knew with certainty that going home and being left so alone would only mean more morphine, more wine, and the descent into a pit from which he would possibly never escape.</p><p>“What’s happening to you Erik?”</p><p>Erik looked down and said nothing.</p><p>Giradin considered him. “All right. I expect you’re good at this, keeping things a secret, and that I won’t win here. Go and wash yourself. Get yourself something to eat. And do not come here like this again.”</p><p>Erik left the room in silence, full of shame. He washed himself, he could not eat immediately, but at midday went and found a buckwheat crepe from a food seller in the street and forced himself to eat it, hiding in the storage room in the basement with the door locked. Again, his ability to work, to forget, at least for a while, seemed to Erik a minor blessing in the midst of all this. There was still no word from Nadir.</p><p>He resolved to go again to Nadir’s apartment after he’d finished work. This time the household would be awake, and this time he would get a reply and this time he would speak with Nadir. It would all be alright. He knew it. This time he took a cab in his impatience. What could possibly have happened to him? He hoped against hope that this was simply an oversight, that Nadir had been unable to get away from the demands of his employer. But surely nothing was so overwhelming such that he was not able to get a single word to Erik? Maybe Nadir was ill and although that thought seemed appalling but better than the idea that he’d simply forgotten about Erik - or something worse.</p><p>The bored concierge was at his post. “It’s you again. The gentleman you were asking about last night left here this morning. With all his belongings.”</p><p>Erik could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Did he leave a forwarding address?”</p><p>“Nothing. It all seemed very – <em>quick</em> – if you gather my meaning.”</p><p>Erik did not gather any meaning. “Did he leave any - any personal messages?”</p><p>The concierge chuckled and then <em>winked</em> at him. “<em>Nothing for you</em>!”</p><p>Erik felt as if the thin ice beneath his feet had started to crack. He could almost see the cracks spread out from under his feet and that at any moment he would be subsumed by icy black water. He stumbled to the waiting cab and instructed the driver to return to Montparnasse. Nadir had gone without leaving any word for him?</p><p>His thoughts flew to Rafael. How much had Rafael paid him to do this? To reel him and then cast him out? His breathing grew faster and faster and he thought almost with a laugh that maybe he would die in here and he fought the intense nausea he knew so well that came with fear and panic. <em>Nadir had left him without a word because of Rafael</em>. It was a betrayal too huge and too monstrous to contemplate fully.</p><p>Finally, he arrived home. On his way in, Monsieur Hervé handed him a heavy parcel – nothing from Nadir. Erik knew it was a beautiful book of architectural illustrations that he’d been waiting to arrive for several weeks. Ordinarily he would have raced to his room and devoured it immediately, but now – but now the act of being handed something so optimistic and hopeful and lovely seemed completely at odds with how he was feeling.</p><p>He found himself standing in the centre of his room, in the dark, still dressed in his outdoor clothes, the package tucked under his arm, and wondering what he could possibly do now. He felt completely lost.</p><p>This is what it was then, to be destroyed – not directly, not with a fight, nothing physical, or a murder, but the removal of the one person who was maybe to have given him a chance at life. And what made it all so much worse was that <em>Nadir</em> was the one to exact Rafael’s destruction; they were both in on it together. It was a complete betrayal. He had left him without a word. No fanfare, no shouting, the quiet loss, the slipping away – that was what hurt most of all. He’d had no chance to beg him to stay. And he would have begged, on the floor, like a dog.</p><p>To be destroyed, it seemed, was to be left alone with himself, holding the tatters of a love that was spun out of lies</p><p>The cracks in the ice beneath his feet opened up and he felt himself falling into the blackness. He would return, then, to the needle and lose his dreadful churning mind to morphine and be subsumed in the dark waters of unconsciousness. Erik found a lamp on his desk and lit it. It was freezing in his room without the fire, but he took off his coat and hat. He was sweating despite the cold. Fuck Nadir. Fuck Rafael. Fuck them all.</p><p>He got into his bed with the needle and the morphine and fucked himself up.</p>
<hr/><p>“Erik! Erik! Let me in!” The door to his room rattled vigorously.</p><p>Erik slowly shifted himself in the bed to turn away from the door. He listened with little interest to the noise outside.</p><p>And then; “Erik! Open the door. It is me, Nadir!”</p><p>
  <em>Is it? I think not.</em>
</p><p>He lay there, listening vaguely; the voice, the ghost of Nadir, was a morphine-dream, nothing more.</p><p>“Erik are you in there? I know you are!” More rattling. “Wake up, you – “</p><p>Surely this voice was a dream?</p><p>“Erik! I know you are in there! Open the door!”</p><p>It wasn’t a dream? He struggled to sit up, not really sure where he was in the bed. The lamp was still burning. He put his bare feet to the floor and felt intensely light-headed. How long had it been since he took the dose? Not long at all. He wasn’t sure if he could walk, even less if he cared to walk. His eyes fell shut.</p><p>“I’m coming.” His voice was a croak.</p><p>The rattling stopped.</p><p>He got to his feet unsteadily and then almost fell across the room to the door. Oh. The mask. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. “Wait there. A minute. I’m still – “</p><p>“I’m waiting.”</p><p>He stumbled back to the bed, sat down and found the mask and tied it on. He wasn’t sure if he could be bothered to get up again. His eyes fell shut again.</p><p>“Erik! What are you doing?”</p><p>He came to with a gasp and then managed to make it back to the door, just about, and leaning heavily on the wall next to it, slid open the bolt, unlocked the door and opened it.</p><p>There was Nadir; huge and beautiful and grand, stood right there.</p><p>Needing the wall to remain upright, hand still on the door, Erik smiled, stupidly. “Oh. It’s you. Hello.” His eyes shut and his head fell against the wall.</p><p>Nadir pushed the door open out of Erik’s hand and strode in. “Get back into your bed, Erik. I can’t speak to you now. When you are like this.”</p><p>“What? I’ve been asleep – ah - you woke - me up.”</p><p>Nadir shoved Erik back onto the bed. Erik was unable to resist him. It felt so good to be horizontal again. His eyes shut. He mumbled into the mattress, “I’m so glad you’ve come back.”</p><p>He heard something like a curse from Nadir, and then nothing more.</p><p>Morphine was a powerful and insistent master and when he was in the blood in such a great quantity as he was now, there was nothing that could be done to resist his pull back to sleep and so within seconds, Erik was lost again to the world.</p>
<hr/><p>Erik awoke in a silent room. He sat up, feeling almost normal. “Nadir? Are you there?”</p><p>Had he dreamt his return? He peered into the gloom, the only lamp was the one he’d lit hours ago. He wrapped himself in a blanket from his bed, took off the mask and went with the lamp from his desk to the other end of the room. But Nadir wasn’t there, waiting for him, in the dark. Of course he wasn’t. There was nothing to suggest he had ever been.</p><p>He was being haunted by images of his own longing. He put the lamp down and slumped onto the small sofa and sat in the half-light. What a fool he was, a desperate pathetic fool. What had made him think that a man such as Nadir would ever want to be with him? That wonderful night they had spent together had been all out of pity, nothing more; how much worse it was to find that it was in fact a game that he and Rafael were playing together.</p><p>Erik sat motionless for several minutes, still calmed by morphine, his breathing slow. He refused to cry for himself. And what would life be like now, without Nadir? And knowing as he did now that all of that sweetness, all of those soft things he had felt, and heard from Nadir’s lips, were all a lie. A joke even, at his expense. He could hardly bear to think of the bitterness of it. A great black nothingness stretched out in front of him.</p><p>And then he heard a key in his door. <em>A key in his door!</em> He turned to look at it in astonishment. No one had a key to his door. And the door was unbolted! Erik stood up, dropping the blanket from his shoulders. Who the fuck was letting themselves in?</p><p>It swung open and there was Nadir, face dark, lit from behind by the dim light in the corridor. They stood in silence for a long moment staring at each other. Erik held his breath with amazement and relief.</p><p>They both spoke at once.</p><p>“I didn’t dream you - !”</p><p>“What have you done - ?”</p><p>Nadir shut the door behind him. His movements were slow and deliberate. He looked tired. “Erik you need to tell me what you have done.”</p><p>“What do you mean? Why are you here? How did you get in? I thought you and Rafael – “</p><p>“Who is Rafael?”</p><p>Erik shook his head a little, “<em>what</em>?”</p><p>“Light another lamp. And then I want you to tell me what you have done, Erik.” His voice was cold.</p><p>“I – I haven’t done anything! I thought – I thought you had gone! I went to your apartment. He told me you had left with all your belongings and that there was no message for me and I thought you and Rafael - ”</p><p>“Stop talking. I do not want to listen to this. It is not about you.” Nadir went to the sofa and sat down. “Find another lamp and light it. I am not going to talk to you in the dark.” An icy rage rolled off him in waves.</p><p>“Why are you speaking to me like I’m a child?”</p><p>Nadir did not reply. He sat with his back straight, motionless, eyes cast down.</p><p>Erik went about the room and found two lamps and lit them, and said angrily, “is that enough light for you to talk?” He sat at his desk. Any relief he felt that Nadir had returned had been quashed by Nadir’s coldness and it made him confused and anxious.</p><p>Nadir looked up at him. He spoke with a cold fury. “I want you, Erik, to tell me why I had a visit from the Sûreté yesterday. I am accused of gross indecency. In the Champs Elysée. With you. And they said this in front of Mazanderani.” His fists were tight balls on his knees.</p><p>Erik laughed in shock and then covered his mouth with his hands. <em>I will destroy you</em>.</p><p>“Do not laugh! Do you realise what has happened? He has ceased my employment. He will not have me live there. The police believe it was a false accusation. Because it was! They will be talking to you tomorrow. But <em>he</em> would not have it. He would not be tainted by my presence in his household. I warned you, Erik!”</p><p>Erik was still struggling not to laugh in horror, “I thought that you and he had conspired - when you didn’t come – but I never imagined this!”</p><p>“They know your name, Erik. They know who you are. I want to know why this has happened. Why one of - <em>your associates</em> – who you know – did this. Made this accusation.”</p><p>Erik jumped up. “Associates? I don’t have any - other than Rafael! It was him!”</p><p>“Who is this<em> Rafael</em>?”</p><p>Erik began to pace the room,</p><p>“Nadir, it is too awful – he was my – “</p><p>“<em>He</em> was your lover? Tell me, Erik, what did you do to him? To have brought this upon me?” Nadir spoke loudly and stood up, “Stop pacing! Now! Remember that you are not the one who has lost everything. What have you done?”</p><p>He stopped and looked at him, “I – he was – Oh Nadir, I can hardly bear to say it –"</p><p>“Tell me – “</p><p>“ - I exposed him, for what he is – in front of his friends – in public. When he did not want to be exposed. In that way. And then – “ Erik covered his face with his hands, “ – and then I took off the mask in front of them all – to make it worse for him – “</p><p>Nadir looked at him incredulously. “But why - ?”</p><p>Erik laughed, “- why did they deserve to see my face?”</p><p>“ - did you<em> expose</em> him? And yourself! Why did you do that? Should I expect you to do that to me?”</p><p>Erik was horrified. “No! Rafael – he was, he was – “ What could he possibly say about what Rafael did that didn’t sound ridiculous? He did not have the words to explain what Rafael had done to him and much less the ability to share the shame of it. “Nadir, he was – he was unpleasant to me. I wanted to – make him upset – I had no idea he would do this!”</p><p>“What? <em>Unpleasant</em>? If I am <em>unpleasant</em>, will you do the same to me? Shame me? In public?”</p><p>“No – Nadir – no! I can’t believe he has done such a thing to you! He is a terrible man! He sent me a note, the other day – saying he would ‘destroy me’. And I knew it was in revenge for what I did to him. Oh, I hoped that I could keep this from you – it is disgusting – “</p><p>“But you did not and now he has found his vengeance through me! You are right. It is disgusting. It all disgusts me. This is – you are – “</p><p>Erik gasped. <em>He disgusted Nadir</em>. He felt his heart close up. He stood to his full height, suddenly calm, “Ah, it is not what you thought life in Paris would be, is it? To be associated with vengeful – <em>disgusting</em> - pederasts? To be humiliated in front of your employer for <em>what you are</em>? What am I to you? A secret little perversion until you find yourself a nice wife? What are you even doing here, Nadir? With me? If <em>what I am</em> so disgusts you?”</p><p>Nadir stared at him. “What am I doing with you Erik? That is a very good question - one I have asked myself many times over the past two days. And then when I arrived here this evening, I find you – unable to stand - because you were so drugged – so I cannot even tell you what has happened to me – the humiliation that you caused me. And I thought to myself ‘<em>who is this man</em>?’ Who has brought such <em>destruction</em> into my life? No. It is not what I thought Paris would be. You live – like this, in this way – and I have <em>lost everything</em> because of my –<em> association</em> - with you. In the most shameful of ways. Because of <em>you</em>. No, Erik. I do not know what I am doing here with you.”</p><p>At his words Erik felt with great clarity that their situation was becoming irredeemable, and that he was at a point in his life that was so pivotal that the decision he made now, in this moment, could change the course of everything to come. Whether it was the morphine that allowed him this clarity or some vestige of emotional self-preservation, he would never be sure. And he knew then that if he made the wrong choice now that within seconds Nadir would leave his room and his life forever.</p><p>And so he realised that perhaps, for once in his life, he held the power to make things better and not infinitely worse. He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to fight back with the cruel words and the self-pity that filled him to the brim. He drew in a deep breath and said, as much to himself as to Nadir, “do not say anything else.”</p><p>Nadir stepped closer. “Why not? Because you do not want to hear the truth of it? About yourself?”</p><p>Erik wondered if Nadir might punch him, even hoped he would. He clung on to his self-control. “Because this is how Rafael is carrying out his threat to destroy me. How he will destroy us.”</p><p>“<em>Us</em>? He has already destroyed me, Erik.”</p><p>Erik felt a sudden rush of pity for Nadir, despite his anger, despite his harsh words and his shame. He wanted to fall on the floor and beg forgiveness, beg him to stay. “I am immensely sorry for what he has done to you. That he humiliated you like that. It mortifies me – to my soul - that you have been caught up with him. And because of me! And how disgusting I am – but this is how he planned to destroy me. Through you – your humiliation and your <em>rightful</em> anger – can you not see?“ He moved towards him. “I thought you had left me – because of him, that he had put you up to it – and I wanted to die, Nadir! I cannot bear the thought of you – leaving – and he knows it! He thought doing this to you would make you leave me. And now maybe you will!” He felt tears come and he pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes to try to stop them. “Oh, please forgive me Nadir – please don’t leave!“</p><p>Erik heard him sit down. He took his hands from his eyes and saw that Nadir looked even more exhausted than before.</p><p>In a rush of emotion Erik knelt before him. He could feel the sob in throat. He looked up at Nadir. “It could be all right, Nadir, it could be – there are others like us – who live here, in this very building! And there is no scandal for them, they are known, but they live together. And - it is alright – we would be respectable! Please don’t be disgusted by it – by us. And I could – I could stop with the morphine – for you – or I would try to – or I would take it so that - so that you didn’t know – and I will work – even if I lose my employment – I can do all kinds of things Nadir, I can – I will play my violin on the street – we could be together – despite everything – or we could go away for little while – to Guizot – he knows about me - I just can’t bear for you to leave - “ He was overcome and wept onto Nadir’s knees.</p><p>Nadir let him weep and after a short while gently pushed Erik away. He spoke softly. “You are living in a fairytale Erik. How would we live? What would I do?”</p><p>“I will work enough for both of us – “ He gave a kind of sobbing laugh, sat back on his heels and spread his arms wide, “ – you could be my – wife!”</p><p>Nadir sank back into the sofa and drew his hand over his face. “My God. This is exhausting. <em>You</em> are exhausting.” He gave a little laugh and looked down at Erik through half-closed eyes. “Erik, I am not disgusted by you. I am sorry – that I said that. It was unnecessary. It has all been a terrible shock. To be thrown out of my home like this. I came here because I wanted to – to be with you.” He sat up and reached forward and took Erik’s face in the palm of his hand. “What was done to you?”</p><p>Erik sagged a little. “By whom?”</p><p>“By him of course! Enough to make you do what you did! What did he do to you?”</p><p>Erik turned so that his mouth was covered by Nadir’s hand. “Don’t make me say it – “</p><p>“I want to know. It is important for me to understand this - this chaos. You need to start being honest with me.”</p><p>Erik took Nadir’s hand from his face. He bowed his head and looked to one side, covering his face with his hands. “He. He – <em>I</em> would drink too much – he would take advantage of me – I hated him for it – but I kept going back - oh, it was my own stupid fault. All of it is.“</p><p>“Ah, I see.” Nadir paused. “And that morning I came here and brought you a brioche. Was that to do with him?”</p><p>Erik said nothing. He was drenched in shame so that his chest hurt and his dreadful face was hot.</p><p>“You were crying.”</p><p>He put his hands down. “I’m always <em>fucking</em> crying Nadir. But yes. It was after I did - what I did. To him.” And then, in a whisper, “I think you saved me.”</p><p>Then Nadir fell on his knees in front of Erik and embraced him so tightly that Erik thought they might both topple over, and then he kissed Erik over and over and Erik brought his arms up to return the embrace.</p><p>And in between the kissing, Nadir spoke. “Erik - what have you - done to me - you are a terrible - chaos-machine - of a man – you made me so angry – so I wanted - to kill you - yet – and yet – I cannot – bear – to be – parted from you – “</p><p>He reached Erik’s mouth and Erik returned his kiss as passionately as ever he could, and Nadir’s hands were suddenly everywhere, under his shirt and around his backside, and in his trousers and then Nadir stood and pulled Erik to his feet and held his face close to his, “you are a terrible man – a terrible one – you will be - the death – of me – “</p><p>And Erik gave him a little smile and reached down to Nadir’s belt and started to undo it. He knew that there would be nothing to done for him, not this evening, but he was taken with a sudden need to give Nadir, something, anything, he had.</p><p>He palmed the front of Nadir’s trousers and felt him, ready and firm, and with his other hand he reached down to cup Nadir’s buttocks hard, pulling him closer, all the while Nadir kissed his mouth and his face and his neck, making the most exquisite noises.</p><p>He gently tugged Nadir by the belt over to the bed, “come, come, I want to – do those unspeakable things,” and pushed him down with a laugh.</p><p>Erik sat on his lap, knees either side of his hips, hands around the back of his head, and kissed him deeply, enjoying, for once, the need to bend his neck down to reach his mouth.</p><p>Nadir, smiling through the kisses, placed his big hands on Erik’s waist under his shirt and up his back, moaned from the pressure of Erik’s hips so firmly against body, full and ripe as it was.</p><p>And then they tumbled backwards onto the bed and together they removed Nadir’s trousers, and he sprang forth in a way that thrilled Erik just to see.</p><p>“Goodness, Nadir!”</p><p>Nadir laughed, reached up and pulled him into another kiss while Erik, extended himself along the length of Nadir’s glorious body, reached down and took hold of his length, firmly and began to pull it rhythmically and hard. He broke away from Nadir’s mouth and whispered “you, Nadir, are an ecstasy of a man, good god, look at you, I want to crawl along your body, lick you – “</p><p>And Nadir thrust deeply into Erik’s hand, while Erik bent down again and sucked his tongue, as hard he could – and then a keening sound from Nadir and he felt the pulsing of his come, and over his hand, and he closed his fist tight along the entirety of it, and held him while he finished, and then he was suddenly pulled back down to Nadir’s mouth and his head was held down in a fierce kiss that seemed more a way of devouring than of an expression of love.</p><p>Finally they parted, with a gasp.</p><p>“<em>Fuck me</em>, Erik – “ Nadir’s eyes were glazed with the pleasure of it.</p><p>“I think I just did.”</p><p>Afterwards they lay awake for many hours in each other's arms and talked and talked and resolved to leave that very next day and travel north and then to the west, to Guizot’s house on the coast. And they would escape.</p>
<hr/><p>They went in the early morning, when the sun had not quite risen, to the horse fair, just to the east of where Erik lived. It was a wild place.</p><p>Erik approached one of the horse dealers. He knew from their shouts that they were from Normandy and so he spoke to the man in their shared dialect. At hearing him speak, the dealer treated Erik with amusement as if he were a long-lost, but exceptionally strange, brother. Despite this unexpected camaraderie, he felt deeply uneasy in his presence and was reminded very much of the men who had run the travelling fair of his youth. Eventually, after much haggling and debate, he came away with two big geldings that he led on a rope. There was a saddle-maker who pitched up at the horse fair every day and so he led the horses to him and bought bridles and saddles and blankets for each of them. And Nadir came down from the embankment above the fair and Erik walked towards him smiling, leading a horse in each hand, and asked him which one he would like to ride, as if he were giving him a great gift.</p><p>And they had ridden back to his apartment and retrieved a few of the things they had to take with them, including, to Nadir’s amusement, Erik’s violin (“it will get so wet!”), and made a generous arrangement with M. Hervé to keep Erik’s room unoccupied for six months.</p><p>They rode over the river, to Giradin’s practice. As they arrived at the steps outside, Giradin himself came to meet them outside on the street, evidently having seen them arrive from his office window.</p><p>He seemed excited. “Erik – there is a man from the Sûreté in there! Wanting to speak to you! He – “ he said, pointing at Nadir, “is the problem, I presume? The one you couldn’t tell me about yesterday? Shit - he is Mazanderani’s translator!” He laughed. “Jesus Christ, Erik. You don’t make it easy for yourself, do you?”</p><p>“He’s not anymore. Do you know why the policeman is there?”</p><p>“Oh yes – I do! And I know why you’re on a bloody horse with your bags packed. But do you really need to leave?”</p><p>“My problem is not – him – “ Erik cocked his head at Nadir, “but the person who has made the unfounded accusation. He will not stop at me. He will try to bring you down too if I remain here. It is better for me to leave. Let it take its course.”</p><p>“Who is this accuser?”</p><p>“Someone who wants revenge.”</p><p>“Good god. Will you come back?”</p><p>“Perhaps. I am sorry to leave like this, David. Thank you. For all the things you – “</p><p>Giradin smiled broadly at him. “Go on. Be off with you both!”</p><p>And they continued on, to the north of the city, paying a much-needed visit to a pharmacy, for morphine and castor oil (which earned Erik a lecture on the perils of morphine use that was so long and detailed that he rolled his eyes at the pharmacist and walked out before he’d finished talking), and then a stop at a market for Nadir to buy them both some provisions for the journey, before they finally came to the open countryside and their freedom.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had no idea where you could buy horses in Paris in 1852. Was there a horse shop? Turns out there was an entire horse-market, just up the road from where I imagine Erik to have been living. I know nothing more about horse-buying in Paris so I made the rest of it up. Apart from the horse-dealers being from Normandy - according to Graham Robb’s book <em>The Discovery of France</em>, that’s where they came from.</p><p><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Horse_Fair">Here is a picture of the horse-fair of Paris</a>, painted in about 1851 by a remarkable woman called <a href="https://365daysoflesbians.tumblr.com/post/161943692576/june-17-the-horse-fair-makes-its-debut-1853">Rosa Bonheur</a>.  I imagined E&amp;N being there watching all those galloping horses from the banks.</p><p>And all of the following is from a lovely book called <em>Strangers: Homosexual Love in the Nineteenth Century</em> also by Graham Robb (he really is the man to go to to find out about The Gays and France in the Olden Days)</p><p>‘In France, the revolutionary Code Pénal decriminalized sexual relations between men by deliberately omitting any reference to them. This reform was incorporated into the Code Civil of 1804…’ but ‘pederasts’ were still prosecuted under laws to do with public indecency, corruption of the young and vagrancy. There were mass rounds up of people having sex in public places, (the Champs Elysees was the place to go if you wanted the thrill of outdoor sex in the bushes) but their prosecution was not to do with their sexuality. </p><p>The police did seem also very concerned about dealing with blackmailers and paedophiles. However, ‘many prosecutions in France were the result, not of direct police action, but of specific complaints: from members of the public who heard unseemly noises coming from public urinals, or from other homosexuals who used the law as a convenient means of revenge. The files of the Préfecture de Police show that many lovers’ quarrels ended with an anonymous letter to the vice squad.’</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. St-Martin-de-Boscherville</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This Be The Verse<br/>By Philip Larkin </p><p>They fuck you up, your mum and dad.<br/>They may not mean to, but they do.<br/>They fill you with the faults they had<br/>And add some extra, just for you.</p><p>But they were fucked up in their turn<br/>By fools in old-style hats and coats,<br/>Who half the time were soppy-stern<br/>And half at one another’s throats.</p><p>Man hands on misery to man.<br/>It deepens like a coastal shelf.<br/>Get out as early as you can,<br/>And don’t have any kids yourself.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Erik was a good horseman. In fact, he loved horses and had always been profoundly grateful for their gentle acceptance of him, their solidity and strength. He had spent years riding on the road with Guizot during his adolescence and the knowledge that he could outpace any human assailant while riding gave him a security quite unlike anything else. Not that he had ever ridden a horse at speed through a crowd, much as he had wanted to, especially in the early days, after the fair.</p><p>There had been many times, when he was younger and he was overwhelmed with all the things, that he would take himself to the stables at night and press his unmasked face into their warm flank or stroke their soft, snuffling noses and whisper to them for hours, and somehow, because of them, things would start to seem more bearable. They didn’t care what he was. Indeed, he had been wondering recently if he shouldn’t simply buy himself a horse and take off into the night.</p><p>In contrast, Nadir had last ridden a horse as a young boy, his uncle’s, and without a saddle. Erik spent much of the first day on the road attempting to teach him to ride confidently – and laughing at him, much to Nadir’s irritation. The truth was, the horse needed an experienced rider and Nadir most definitely was not. Erik had ended up leading Nadir’s horse much of the way.</p><p>As they reached the edge of Paris, away from the slums and the churning mass of people, into the open countryside, and onto the long muddy cart paths that went past endless damp and dispirited farms, Nadir asked where they might be going.</p><p>Erik laughed at him again, “you didn’t think to ask me before? How do you know I’m not leading you to <em>hell</em>? You’re far too trusting.”</p><p>“I thought the other day that you had already taken me there.”</p><p>“Mmm.”</p><p>“So where are we going?”</p><p>“Rouen. I grew up in a village just to the west of the place. I thought I – <em>we</em> – could go and visit my mother. It will take us about three days to get there.” Perhaps they were going to go back to hell.</p><p>“Oh. Why?”</p><p>“Why not? I haven’t seen her since I was nine.”</p><p>“When you ran away from her.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>They rode on in silence for a while. It was beginning to rain.</p><p>“And where will we go from there?”</p><p>“We will go to the coast and visit Guizot. I haven’t seen <em>him</em> for two years.”</p><p>“The coast?”</p><p>“The Atlantic coast – to the west. It will take us a week from Rouen.”</p><p>“Does he know to expect us? The middle of winter is a bad time to be travelling – “</p><p>“There will be no one around. All the peasants will be hibernating. It seems like an eminently good time to be travelling. I will write to him.”</p><p>“But the weather – “</p><p>“I’ll buy you another coat. Or you can go back to Paris.”</p><p>“Ah yes, back to Paris where my life is in ruins – thanks to you.”</p><p>“Come now, Nadir.” Erik laughed. “Where is your sense of adventure? What could be <em>better</em> than travelling with me through the <em>beautiful </em>lands of the north in the middle of the winter? It will be wonderful!”</p><p>Erik had told him little of his early childhood with his mother; he couldn’t remember large periods of it and those times that he did remember were strange and disturbing to him, even now. He often felt surprised and not a little ashamed that the memories of his childhood still had such an impact on him, all these years later, and it left him frustrated that he could never just forget it all completely, and that previously forgotten episodes would surface unexpectedly in nightmares and haunt him during the day.</p><p>Guizot had shown Erik letters that she had sent for him after she had been told of his rescue – he had refused to read a single one, or even look at them. Guizot had then tried to encourage him to write to his mother, at least at first, but Erik had refused outright or, when forced to remain in his seat until he’d written something, made his writing so small that it was completely illegible. Or he’d written <em>hate</em> in red many times on the good paper that Guizot had given him, which had earned him a clip around the ear. He had run away after that, stayed away for two nights. He refused to listen to any news from his mother, singing too loudly when any of her letters were read to him. And when Guizot had suggested going to visit her, several years after his rescue, Erik had refused to eat for days, and so it had never been mentioned again. What an awkward little shit he was.</p><p>So why did he have this compulsion to return to her now? Erik presumed that Guizot had continued to let her know of his continued persistence on this earth. Quite what he would have told her from the scattered and infrequent letters he sent to Guizot he couldn’t imagine. He could hardly present himself to her as an example of a fine upstanding young man; <em>look how well I’ve turned out, Mother! Ugly as sin, thinner than ever, escaping a horrible scandal, I have a chaotic morphine habit, and meet my huge and handsome lover! </em>The thought of shocking her with all of that gave him a little thrill – she had always been so keen on him being so boringly <em>proper.</em></p><p>“What are you laughing about?”</p><p>“I’m remembering my mother. She was dreadfully uptight. She was dreadful in so many ways.” Erik laughed again. “I’m looking forward to introducing <em>you </em>to her.”</p><p>Nadir sighed. “You are thinking of using me as a way to shock your mother? Do not do that, Erik. It would be - unpleasant.”</p><p>“There are many ways I can shock my mother, I daresay you would be the least of them.” He reached down and patted the neck of his horse.</p><p>“So besides going to see your mother to shock her with me, why else are we going there? When you parted on such – difficult – terms. I am wondering what that will be like. For you both. Does she know we are coming?”</p><p>“No. We will surprise her.”</p><p>“I see. And you are hoping for what? A reunion?”</p><p>Erik said nothing for a while. It had occurred to him that he had a vague desire to prove to her that, despite all his failings, that he could be – <em>seen for what he was</em> – and that people – Nadir! – still wanted to be with him. He wanted to show her that, apparently, he was not the monster she had told him he was. Because of Nadir - because of Giradin. Maybe she would believe him.</p><p>Would he have gone there without Nadir as proof of this? Proof that he could be – whatever was it that Nadir’s presence proved? And <em>Jesus Christ</em>, why did it even matter what she thought of him?</p><p>He couldn’t say any of this to Nadir, so he tried something that was close to the truth, “I want to show her that I am still in existence. Not because of her. Despite her. Because I carried on.”</p><p>Nadir turned to him. There is sadness in his look, Erik thought, and it irritated him.</p><p>“Stop looking at me like that. You’re always looking at me with –<em> pity</em> – that’s unpleasant. What was <em>your</em> mother like?”</p><p>“I did not run away from her when I was nine.”</p><p>“Ah – now you’re boasting.”</p><p>“There were many of us Erik, living together, under my father’s house. My mother was always there in the background. But I had brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles, and the children played together. As we grew older, we were useful and helped with the animals and fetching wood and water. It was a busy household. It was different to yours.”</p><p>Erik did not reply. He listened to the easy rhythms of the horses as they walked, the faraway shout of a man in a field, the distant chiming of a church bell.</p><p>After a while, Nadir spoke again. “When Reza died I had to move from the house I had been living in because the memories of him, and his death, they were too painful to remain. Places can have a very strong effect on a man, Erik.”</p><p>“Yes – “</p><p>“Which is why I am wondering - ” he laughed, “- <em>still</em> - why we are going to your mother’s house. Have you considered what it will be like? To be in the home of your childhood? With her? So soon after all of this?”</p><p>“I haven’t considered it at all. Maybe we will just ride there and look at the house and ride on. I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about her anymore.”</p><p>“Then we are making a great deal of effort, Erik, to go and look at an old house. Three days of travelling!”</p><p>“What else do you suggest we do?”</p><p>“What else could we do? Other than going to pay a visit to your mother? Let me think of some things – we could find a nice place to stay and let this weather pass, we could travel directly to your friend Guizot, we could simply have stayed in Paris. The truth of it, Erik, is that I am worried about what will happen – to you - when and if – you meet her again. I am worried.“</p><p>“You are a strange man, Nadir. I am going to see my mother. That is all. There is no need to worry.”</p>
<hr/><p>They reached the little town of Pontoise just before nightfall that first day where they found an inn and two rooms and a place to stable the horses. They had to race against the short, dark days and the constant threat of snow. But their horses were young and fit and eager and they crossed the wide rolling landscapes north of Paris with ease.</p><p>And the following day, Nadir did not ask Erik again if they should reconsider his plans to go back to Boscherville. They pressed onto Saint-Clair-sur-Epte, and found a place to stay near the little church.</p><p>It was a grim journey, bitterly cold and the snow hard, with the wind whipping over the fields with little in the way of shelter from trees, and when it wasn’t blowing a gale their breath and the breath of the horses was visible in the freezing air. But the further they got from Paris the freer Erik felt; he was exacting an escape from his life. The difficulty of the journey and the trials of the horrid weather seemed to him a kind of penance for the sins of the past few weeks.</p><p>And besides, Erik decided it was wildly romantic to have taken off together in such a way, to battle through the snow and ice to a new life. Even if that life was only somewhere in the rain-swept plains of northern France. He didn’t share this romance with Nadir. But he continued to feel a deep and abiding pleasure at being with Nadir that would remain, to an extent, even after the morphine wore off. And this gave him the tiniest slither of hope that he could one day live without it, and it would be Nadir, not morphine, in his veins and his heart and who would soothe his horrid brain. <em>One day, one day.</em></p><p>Erik did not tell Nadir about his romantic ideas. He strongly suspected that Nadir was still furious with him for pulling him out of his comfortable life to a life of vagrancy in the middle of the winter, and in such a dreadful way. Their talk as they travelled through the weather was intermittent and was often limited to the practicalities of where they were going, what the horses needed, and finding food for all of them, and attempting – usually failing - to keep warm and dry.</p><p>The third day they left early, rode hard through the falling snow and reached Rouen by the evening, just after the dark fell. They found a place to stay in a half-timbered hotel, no less, in the narrow streets of the city. The whole place was silenced by snowfall. Erik took his meal in his room, Nadir joining him later, having, to Erik’s great amusement, thrown himself around in his bed to give the impression of having slept there all night – a procedure that was to become their nightly routine over the following days on the road.</p><p>They set out for St-Martin-de-Boschervile in the middle of morning of the following day. Any nerves Erik belatedly realised he felt at the prospect of meeting his mother were somewhat quelled by a large dose of morphine he had taken before they left, and it was fair to say that with this and the distance between him and Paris, he felt positively buoyant. Nadir did not seem to share in his mood.</p><p>After they’d ridden for an hour, Nadir said, “Erik – what will you do if she cries when she sees you? Have you thought of that? It is what women tend to do. And what <em>you</em> tend to do – the crying. What if she chooses not to see you? Do you know if she is still alive? Does she still live in the house that you remember?”</p><p>“Why all this worrying? If she is not there we will ride back! I will go and look at the house, I daresay, nothing more. There is nothing to be concerned about. It is only a house. And she is only a woman – one I have not seen for many years. It might be that I hardly remember her at all. She will be old!”</p><p>“ – Erik – “</p><p>“I will not be alarmed by her, Nadir – what can she do now? I can easily leave again, whenever I want to, there will be no locks or bolts on the windows that I cannot pick, the doctor will not be there – or if he is I am sure that I am taller than him now, I will not listen to the things he likes to say; I will find the grave of Sacha and I will pay my respects to her, maybe even sing another requiem for her, like I tried to that night, and the woman – that woman, what was her name, maybe she will be there, but if she is dead too, then it will be alright, but I will be able to say I went and I tried and she could have seen me, if she wished – “</p><p>“Erik! Stop!” Nadir had ridden up so that he was beside Erik, frowning, his face full of worry.</p><p>“You will be there – “</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>Erik gave his head a little shake, he wasn’t sure at all what he had been talking about. “It will be alright, you’ll see.”</p><p>“Who is Sacha?”</p><p>“My dog.”</p><p>“<em>Your dog</em>?”</p><p>“My dog, yes! She died on the night I left – they killed her – “ Erik was flooded with the memory of it, his eyes unseeing; the screaming of the crowd, his screaming, the blood of the dog and his. He was brought back to his senses by the tripping of his horse, a side-stepping, almost as if the animal was aware of his distress. He tightened the reins and made a soothing sound as much for himself as for the damn horse.</p><p>“Ah Erik, we can turn back – we don’t have to go – “</p><p>He turned and looked Nadir full in the face. “I have to go. I have to make her see me.”</p><p>And Nadir said no more.</p><p>Within another hour they arrived at St-Martin-de-Boschervile. They passed the huge church where the road was wide and they were joined by a group of boys laughing and playing with a ball. Erik encouraged his horse into a trot to get away from them, but Nadir did not and when he looked behind he saw that Nadir was smiling at them and engaging them in a joyful conversation, their voices raised with laughter as he told them a made-up tale of <em>the Orient</em>. Oh, to be so easy and full of charm, and confidence, and not to feel compelled at every normal human contact to flee or to hide.</p><p>Presently, Nadir caught up with him.</p><p>“You’ve finished with your little friends? We are nearly there. It is just down here." And then, urgently, "you will stay, won’t you? You won’t leave me there?”</p><p>“I will stay with you, Erik.”</p><p>And as they approached, he felt his heart thunder in his chest and his gloved hands sweat. Is this what Nadir had been so worried about? Erik had not given a single thought to how he would feel when they arrived; he had spent the previous ten years trying to put her from his mind. Now the reality was that he was only minutes away from seeing her again and he was utterly unprepared. He had rarely seen the outside of his house in the daylight and now here it was, with its wall and its gate, the house white-painted and symmetrical, and those two little windows for the room in the roof. <em>The room in the roof -</em></p><p>They stopped the horses a little way up the road and sat in silence, watching. Erik was aware that Nadir was looking at him, not the house.</p><p>“Erik – “ he spoke quietly, “what would you like to do?”</p><p>What would he like to do? The softening effect of the morphine was diminishing now, and he found himself feeling – he hated to admit it – <em>scared</em>. His hands shook as he held the reins and he held on to the front of the saddle to still them.</p><p>Erik gave a little laugh. “I think you were right, Nadir. Being here is - seeing this house – it is – it’s full of memories.” He laughed again, “I feel like a small child.” Looking around, he was intensely self-conscious. There had been wild rumours spread about him here, in this village. But the street was empty. The house was silent.</p><p>Nadir swung down from his horse and came up to Erik. He placed one hand on Erik’s thigh. He looked up at Erik earnestly and said, “you are not a child anymore. You are a man. Anything that you are feeling – they are only your memories. Not what is happening now. We can go there – or we can leave now, and you can say that you came back to look. But know that you are here – right now, and that I am staying with you.”</p><p>Erik gave him a weak smile in return. He dismounted the horse, held the reins, took a deep breath and said, “Yes. We are here now. I will go and see her.”</p><p>But as he walked, despite the sighing, snorting presence of the horses, and the feeling of the reins tight in his hand, his knees felt weak and it was almost as if he would leave the ground with fear. They came to halt outside the gate.</p><p>“I think, Nadir, I should like to leave. This is not what I thought it would be – “</p><p>“We shall leave, then.”</p><p>But the front door was flung open and out stepped a small woman in a brown dress. She hurried down the path towards them, her hands held up in a gesture of prayer, her mouth a perfect O – half-shrieking, “Oooohh!”</p><p>Erik remounted his horse.</p><p>“Is she your mother, Erik?” Nadir remained standing and he received no reply from Erik.</p><p>The woman reached the gate and wrenched it open.</p><p>“Erik! Erik is that you? It is you! Oh! – Wait there!” And then she turned and ran back into the house, shouting, “Madeleine, Madeleine – he has come back! <em>He is here</em>!”</p><p>And at the door appeared another woman, slightly taller, with dark hair and in a dark blue dress.</p><p>“<em>She</em> is my mother.”</p><p>The two women came down the path together, the woman in the brown dress coming again to the gate and standing out on the road in front of them, her face a picture of awe and excitement, wringing her hands. Madeleine stopped and stood still in the centre of the path, away from the gate, her hands hanging down by her sides. She bore no expression on her face but looked directly at him.</p><p>Erik stared at her.</p><p>There was his mother, older, greyer but unmistakably her. She who had failed to rescue him, the woman whose shouts and cries he still heard in his nightmares. If ever he had known regret, he knew it now. What had possessed him to come back?</p><p>She made no move towards him.</p><p>Erik wasn’t sure how long they remained locked in this silent stare. The spell was broken by Nadir clearing his throat and addressing the woman in the brown dress.</p><p>“Madame, may I ask your name?”</p><p>“Oh! Monsieur – it is Mademoiselle – my name is Marie.”</p><p>“Ah – it is a pleasure, Mademoiselle Marie. Perhaps there is a place we can tie up the horses in your delightful garden and then Erik and his – ah – mother, can talk inside the house?”</p><p>“Oh, oh yes of course! How wonderful it is that Erik is here! We have been waiting for him for so long – “ she busied back through the gate and held it open.</p><p>“Well, that is a very good thing.”</p><p>And then Nadir spoke to him; “Erik, dismount from the horse.”</p><p>Erik looked down at Nadir as if he’d woken from a deep sleep. The word on his lips was <em>No </em>but he seemed to have lost the ability to think or speak and so did as he was told and slid down from the horse.</p><p>They walked together into the garden and Nadir took the reins from him while Marie stood, still wringing her hands in delight, watching them. Erik noticed that the woman in the dark dress, <em>his mother</em>, had disappeared silently from the garden, as if she had never been there. When they had secured the horses, they followed Marie into the house.</p><p>As they walked up the path Nadir took Erik’s hand in his.</p><p>They did not part until they stepped over the threshold into the house. The hallway was dark and lead to left into the sitting room, to right into the kitchen, and there was a dark wooden staircase directly in front of them.</p><p>It was the smell of the place that made him plummet back, furniture polish and neroli and the all-pervasive smell of cesspit. This banal little house, this crucible of his heart, where he had seen so little but learned so, so much about the punishing conditions of love. He shook his head a little as if to cast off the pall of dread that threatened suffocation, but it was not enough, and he noticed that his hands were again shaking. He shut his eyes and before him came images of his boy-self running through this hallway and up the stairs, sometimes pursued by her, sometimes walking away from her on his own, sent away, sometimes shouting, crying, sometimes in abject silence.</p><p>And beyond that, a deeper sense, a primal feeling formed before words, the endless inchoate screaming of an infant before it knew its mind, frenzied with the abandonment that means only death. There would be no peace found here.</p><p>The bustling of Marie was enough to start him from his trance. He knew that he had to do something to prevent himself from being pulled away in the undertow of his memories, and with a gesture even he knew to be strange, he took off his hat and pulled the hair at the nape of his neck tighter, tighter in his fist until it hurt, and he felt his messy, weeping heart close up like a trap and an icy clarity grip his mind; he would not be drowned by emotion – he would become only sharp, cold intellect.</p><p>Marie insisted on taking their coats and hats. His instinct was to refuse her, but Nadir placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently to give them up, and they were encouraged to go into the sitting-room.</p><p>It was far smaller than he remembered, all her strange dark furniture and the piano, and the books – all those books she had bought for him – and the hearth with a meagre fire, and the pictures of her long-dead relatives. With a growing horror he saw that many of the pictures on the walls were his, framed now, as if they were works of art in a museum. His drawings. She had kept them. He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt the sockets of his eyes.</p><p>“Erik.”</p><p>They both turned to face her standing stood in the doorway.</p><p>He drew himself up to his full height, took pleasure in it, in the width of his shoulders, in just how tiny she seemed now, compared to him. He looked down at her and made his voice low and sonorous. “Mother.”</p><p>“It has been a long time – too long – you’ve grown so much. I am – I am so pleased you’ve come - home.“ her eyes flicked from Erik to Nadir, “and who is this - ?”</p><p>He did not take his eyes from her. “Nadir Khan. He is my lov -<em> friend</em>.”</p><p>She gasped, and brought her hand to her mouth, “oh!” She blinked. “Well – he, Monsieur Khan is most welcome.”</p><p>Erik heard Nadir sigh and he inclined his head a little towards him in apology.</p><p>She continued “It is a wonderful thing, that you have come here, Erik – I didn’t expect you to – to come back. Why don’t we sit together? Marie will be in with the tea - ” She was trying to play the generous hostess, standing on ceremony even now, but her voice betrayed her nerves; she held her hands tightly over her stomach. She sat down and Nadir followed her, trying to make the best of a supremely awkward situation.</p><p>Erik did not know if he could sit obediently in this hateful room. He felt ready to sweep his arm along the mantlepiece, taking everything with it, wrench down the curtains, pull down the pictures from the walls –</p><p>Nadir spoke, “Erik, sit down.” <em>How did he know?</em></p><p>He gave in to good manners and sat with Nadir on the horrible sofa, back straight, close to him. She was opposite them. Erik said nothing but stared at her. Her face had the fine-veined bloom of a drinker and he wondered why he had ever thought her beautiful. Her eyes were tired, her mouth pinched, she wrung her hands.</p><p>“Professor Guizot tells me you are well – “</p><p>“Does he? He knows little of my life.”</p><p>“Oh! I kept all of his letters from him – about you – “</p><p>He gave a little shrug and shook his head, in disbelief.</p><p>Marie arrived with a huge tray filled with the tea things. She set it down, somewhat chaotically and the women exchanged anxious whispers about what should go where.</p><p>Erik and Nadir watched them silently. They had pressed their thighs hard against each other and Erik could not tell which of them had instigated this.</p><p>Madeleine looked up when she was satisfied with the arrangements. She offered and poured them both weak tea, which they left to go cold in the cups.</p><p>No one spoke for a long time. Madeleine stared into her tea. Marie looked anxiously between the three of them, her teacup rattling on its saucer. Erik continued to stare at his mother, as if he hoped that by doing so he could transmit all he thought of her directly to her brain. What could he possibly say to this woman before him? Where could he possibly begin? He felt full of a mad energy and wanted to remove the mask, <em>her mask,</em> right there and laugh at her horror and run about and shout at her and thunder on the piano. He was a small, angry boy. He gripped his knees. The clock on the mantlepiece ticked loudly.</p><p>Then with a little gasp she looked up, “Yes, Erik, I lived for the letters from the Professor about you – who it was that was teaching you, your achievements, where you had travelled to in Europe. I was always so hopeful that you would one day write to me. Or come to visit when you were able. He always intimated that it was impossible for you both to come but there was never a reason – “</p><p>He felt his jaw go slack in astonishment. She had <em>wanted</em> to hear from him?</p><p>She continued, “I took great comfort, Erik, knowing that I could write to you – when I knew where you were, when you stopped travelling about with the fair - “</p><p>“I did not read your letters.”</p><p>“Oh.” She blinked and looked down at her lap. “Oh. I am sorry to hear that. I – I – wanted, always, to send you my – “</p><p>“What?”</p><p>She looked up at him, eyes desperate, “my love, Erik – my love.”</p><p>He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead and laughed, “<em>Jesus Christ</em> – “</p><p>“Oh Erik – since the night you left – I have been waiting for you – hoping that you - “</p><p>“With the doctor?”</p><p>“No, no, he left for Paris soon after the night you disappeared – “</p><p>Erik found himself giving a kind of hiss through his teeth. <em>The fucking doctor had left</em>! His throat tightened and he spoke softly. “And you’ve been waiting for me ever since? The prodigal son returns!”</p><p>“I know that we did not part on good terms – Erik – but, believe me, please, believe me when I say that I have yearned for your return – “</p><p>“And you have been rehearsing these lines for ten years! I am wondering, Mother, did Guizot tell you of the circumstances in which he found me. In the fair? Because I don’t think he ever did. He wanted to spare you.”</p><p>Her eyes grew wider, “he told me that you were working there, earning money – “</p><p>Erik turned to Nadir. “She doesn’t know.”</p><p>He swung his gaze back to her. What little self-control he had been able to gather about him was dissipating, fast. He clenched his fists on his knees. His heart was closed, the words flowed fast. “It seems I must enlighten you. As <em>he</em> chose to spare you the sordid details; my face, which you could never bear to look at, turned out to be a highly profitable draw for those who imprisoned me – <em>for two years</em>!” Why, why was all this coming out now? What was he saying? What good could it do?</p><p>“Profitable - ? Imprisoned - ? Whatever do you mean?”</p><p>“You were always right – you knew I had the face of a monster – they were able to make money from it - me – prostitute me, as it were.“ He couldn't stop -</p><p>Her eyes were wide, her mouth was open.</p><p>“I was in a cage. Like an animal. People paid to stare.”</p><p>Madeleine rose, her face drained of colour, and slapped her hand over her mouth. Her whole body convulsed, and she ran from the room.</p><p>Erik ran after her, shouting, “what did you like to imagine me doing, all that time? Selling flowers?”</p><p>She reached the kitchen and vomited into the sink. She made a terrible sound. He could smell the alcohol in the vomit; <em>we are more alike that you know, mother</em>. When she stood up and turned to him there were flecks of it on her lips and chin. He flung her a tea-towel from the table. She wiped her face viciously.</p><p>She coughed, “I need water – “ her voice was rough and she leaned heavily on the side.</p><p>Erik poured a cup of milk from the jug standing near to him on the table. He pushed it across to her. She took a mouthful, her hands shaking and spat it out into the sink. And then she turned back to him.</p><p>“We searched for you Erik – we did! We looked so hard for you – me and Dr Barye and Marie! But what could we do? You were gone - I thought you were dead! I thought you must have died from your injuries - in the woods, in the river! The day I received word from Guizot that you were alive was the day I felt as if life had returned to me! What did they do to you, Erik – oh, what did I do to you?”</p><p>“What a thing it is to live in blissful ignorance. To be sure I was dead - surely better than knowing the reality of what I endured. I longed for you, Mother – in that cage – but you never came! I looked out for you in the crowds – that came to stare at me– and be horrified by <em>my face</em> – I longed to see you, with every fibre of my being – night after night, day after day – but you never came! When did you decide that I was dead and give up on me? Two days? Two weeks? I waited for you for<em> two years </em>and in the end it was not you who came – but him, who I hardly knew – but by then your betrayal was so deep, <em>so deep</em>, that I never wanted to see you again.”</p><p>She clutched the cloth to her breast and cried, “it is unbearable – my boy!”</p><p>“I was never ‘<em>your boy’</em>!” He felt light-headed with the horror of it all. What was <em>she</em> saying?</p><p>She brought the cloth to her face and sobbed, “oh, what did I do to you?”</p><p>“You know what you did. You had nine years to do it.”</p><p>She wept even harder into the cloth, and then abruptly took it from her face. “I kept your room for you – expecting your return, ready to welcome you back – even now, it is the same!”</p><p>“You did <em>what</em>?”</p><p>He turned and ran from the kitchen into the hall and took the stairs three at a time. He burst into his bedroom in the attic and was almost brought to his knees when confronted with the sight of it, the bare floorboards, the shutters wide open, the tiny violin, the bed and the insane constellation of mirrors he had left for her on that last awful night – arranged just as he left them. He stood helpless in the centre of it.</p><p>She was close behind him and swung round the doorframe into the room.</p><p>“What is this madness?” His voice was hoarse.</p><p>“I - I couldn’t bear the idea of changing of it – I always hoped that one day – maybe – you - “</p><p>“But you hated me!”</p><p>“Oh Erik, I didn’t hate you – “ she held her arms in a gesture of supplication, “I loved you – but – I - we – we were so alone – we drove each other mad – I was so full of love for you the night you left – but it was all too late, too late!”</p><p>“You wanted to put me in an asylum – how could I have stayed?“</p><p>“I didn’t! – it was all him – I sent him away – to save you from him – “</p><p>“How was I to know that? How was I to know that you <em>loved me?</em> When hate is all you told me? You couldn’t bear me!<em>”</em></p><p>She collapsed onto the little bed and sobbed, “I failed you Erik – I did! – in all the ways – but I realised! I wanted to change! But it was too late! What can possibly be done now?”</p><p>He spun away from her to the window. <em>What can possibly be done now? </em>He rested his head on the glass and watched as it steamed up from his breath. The days and weeks and months he had spent looking out of this window, the nights he had escaped through it to find freedom in the dark woods. She had imprisoned him here, his body and his soul, behind locked doors, behind masks, instilled in him a profound knowledge of his own ugliness both inside and out; hammered into him that he was only acceptable when masked, when he hid the truth of himself, when he covered his shame. She dug for him a deep well of shame and she had thrown him into it.</p><p>And then the fair had made that well so deep that he had been utterly lost in its darkness, to himself and to others, sure that he could never escape the foulness of his very being.</p><p>And yet! <em>And yet!</em></p><p>Erik knew that there had been people who had reached down to him in the depths of his shame and darkness. Marie, with her funny words and her worrying, and then Guizot – stony Guizot who nevertheless had been a kind of unmoving rock upon which he had found stability and support and been able to take his first faltering steps back to humanity, and Giradin, who seemed too thrilled with Erik’s abilities to care one jot about his face, an acceptance that came with complete and blessed disinterest.</p><p>And then there was Nadir – who had truly and honestly seen him and had not gasped or run away but had kissed him – many times - and who had not looked away as he cried in his shame, and was here now, a living proof that, yes – he could be accepted, as he was. Loved. Did he still need from his mother what he was now beginning to realise for himself?</p><p>He turned back to her. <em>What can possibly be done now?</em> She seemed in a state of collapse on the bed, head in her hands, a silent misery. She had been three years younger than he was now when he had been born and she had been left quite alone with him. Could he have done any better with such a child that he had been? What chance had either of them had?</p><p>He wore a mask and her face was shrouded with tears.</p><p>As he looked at her, sitting there, for the first time in his life he allowed himself to feel pity for her; she was no longer the terror of his heart, the bitter witch, the wicked mother, but a sad and broken failure of a woman.</p><p>Ever so gently he said, “I have to take the mask off – “</p><p>She shook her head not looking up, and said, almost to herself, “I should never have done that to you – <em>never, never, never</em>! It was a great sin.“</p><p>He couldn’t help but give a little laugh, <em>oh, but you did, didn’t you?</em> He reached up, untied it and brought it away from his face and put it carefully on the chest of drawers.</p><p>Then she looked at him and tried to smile through her tears. She got to her feet, taking a few paces towards him and opened her arms to embrace him.</p><p>He held her away by her shoulders.</p><p>She looked up at him again with shock. “Oh, Erik – ”</p><p>“I do not need that now, from you,” he said softly, “he, <em>Nadir</em>, was able to look at my face and do what you could never bring yourself to do. I do not need that from you now, mother.”</p><p>She gave a moan and rolled her head. Her face crumpled back into misery. She felt limp in his hands, he thought she might faint. “Oh Erik, Erik – can I ever be forgiven?”</p><p>He was startled by a noise at the door. Nadir was watching them. He nodded at Erik, as if to say <em>let her</em>.</p><p>He released his grip on her shoulders and she fell into his arms, propelled by a force they were both powerless to resist. She sobbed into his chest words that he did not understand and very slowly he brought his arms up to encircle her. She was tiny and frail. He held her while she sobbed and if it was not forgiveness that he felt, it was a kind of peace blossomed in his heart that needed no words, no explanation. And he thought, what a strange and wonderful thing it is to be alive, and not dead, so that things can change, at least a little bit.</p><p>When she had cried herself to exhaustion, she pulled away from him and looked up at him intensely, studying every inch of his exposed face. And then she gave a great shuddering sniff and wiped her face shakily with the tips of her fingers, pulling at the skin around her eyes, trying to catch her snot with her thumb. He wished he was the sort of man to carry a handkerchief that he could have offered to her, but he was not and so he smiled at her weakly and said stupidly, “we are both ugly now,” and she almost laughed but she mainly sobbed, bringing her hands up to completely cover her face in a way that Erik knew he himself had done so many times before.</p><p>He stood helplessly before his sobbing mother. Erik had thought it would be<em> he</em> who would be sobbing, here in this awful house, but as slowly and as softly as the melting of the ice in spring, he realised that he was, in a mysterious way, releasing her from his heart. And perhaps, with the melting of the ice into water, everything that she had done to him, everything that she had failed to do, that great and catastrophic list, could be washed away, the stain she left in his heart made clean.</p><p>And in a gesture that would look so simple to anyone who didn’t know the way they had both tormented each other, he allowed himself to reach out to her, gently placing his hand on her upper arm, and gave her the tiniest of caresses; <em>I know, I know.</em> His eyes filled with tears as she put her hand over his, and they remained like this, gazing at each other for some moments.</p><p>After a while, Nadir spoke from the doorway. “I shall ask Marie to make us some more tea?”</p><p>Both Erik and his mother took a shuddering intake of breath. They sounded uncannily similar.</p><p>Madeleine turned to Nadir and put on her brightest voice. “Thank you, monsieur. How considerate. I think we are all in need of a little refreshment – “ She turned back to Erik, and gave a high laugh, eyes wide, “ - after all this!”</p><p>And they both followed Nadir down the two flights of stairs, into the kitchen, where they sat at the ancient kitchen table and more tea was made, and a simple lunch was produced, and all the while Erik felt deeply awkward and exposed at being <em>allowed here</em>, at the table, without the mask; he struggled not to feel like a small boy and kept looking down at his <em>man’s </em>hands and at Nadir to remind himself who he was. But despite all this confusion and strangeness he was aware that sitting here at the scarred table, without a mask, was possibly the most important thing he had ever done in his entire life.</p><p>Marie, who was endlessly busy with the lunch things, gave a large and beaming smile at the sight him so unmasked – was it a smile vindication or triumph or joy? – he couldn’t tell, but good god, the blessed Marie, surely a living saint for having put up with him and his mother for so many years, and for still being here, patient and kind, endlessly loving.</p><p>And although the conversation wasn’t easy, didn’t flow, it felt like the start of something that was new and good. There was still so much between them that was left unsaid that it would take a lifetime of talking and of crying to ever get to the bottom of it. For now, they took refuge from it all in simple conversation, in the sharing of bread. Erik told the women of his life in Paris, about Giradin and Madame Hervé’s horrible food and about how he and Nadir had met, and his mother gave them both a knowing look. And the women spoke of their lives in Boscherville, how little had changed, the new priest, the poor apple harvest, the dreadful scandals, and Erik said he was glad to have escaped because it all sounded so dreadfully dull, and no one really knew if he was joking.</p><p>And then his mother stood up suddenly and said that they needed brandy to celebrate Erik’s return. Marie made a little noise in disagreement – it was too early, surely? - but Madeleine swept from the room to get the bottle, and Erik noticed that Marie’s smile slipped from her face.</p><p>She soon returned, looking too eager. “Who would like some? Marie – I know you don’t! Erik – you shan’t refuse, shall you? – and Nadir some for you?”</p><p>“No, Madame, I do not partake – “</p><p>She looked as confused as Erik had done on hearing that Nadir didn’t drink.</p><p>“Ah, it is just you and me, Erik. It is good to know that at least you are able to have a little celebration!”</p><p>She poured two huge glasses of brandy for them both – <em>we are so much more alike that you know, mother.</em> And he thought how extraordinarily strange it was to be sitting here, at this table, unmasked and drinking with a woman he had, up until an hour ago, regarded as his life-long tormentor.</p><p>The first glass went down too quickly, as was his wont, and he was struck by a manic, wild feeling that his life was turning into some ridiculous carnival, where anything at all could happen – up would be down, right would be wrong, and he could sit at his mother’s kitchen table with his lover and get drunk with her on cheap brandy. Erik noticed that she was returning to something like the woman he remembered – sharp and quick witted and a little rude, and he found himself sharing in her humour, with the relief of it all, and the brandy making them both hectic and silly.</p><p>She drained the last of her glass. “Erik – another! I feel like we have only just begun our reunion!”</p><p>He smiled and pushed his glass towards her. “Of course – “ What sort of drunk would she be?</p><p>Nadir placed his hand on Erik’s forearm. “I think, Erik, that we should be leaving now – we do not want to be riding in the dark, especially if the weather turns – “</p><p>He stretched out in his chair, holding the back of his neck. “Just one more, Nadir – and then we shall leave. I have not seen my mother for over ten years!” He knew Nadir was right, but he also knew that he wanted to drink, and there was an anger in him at being told to stop.</p><p>She took the glass and refilled it with glee and pushed it back to him.</p><p>Nadir gripped his arm harder, and then pulled Erik towards him, so that he could whisper into his ear. “Do not humiliate yourself now, like this – you know what she is. You need to stop because she will not. Tell her that we are leaving.”</p><p>Erik pulled away and looked at Nadir. He instantly felt tearful and embarrassed, as if yet again, he was failing in all the myriad ways it was possible to fail. He felt his breath hitch.</p><p>He put his arms on the table and leant forwards. He tried to smile at his mother. “Ah, Madeleine. It would be good to join you with more, but Nadir is right. We must leave now before the light starts to fall – “</p><p>“It seems your <em>friend</em> has you under his thumb, Erik.”</p><p>He bowed his head. Whether it was out of shame or assent, he couldn’t tell.</p><p>“It is a good thing! At least someone can control you – I never could – “</p><p>He took a large gulp from the glass she had poured him and stood up. Marie had long since stopped smiling but now she seemed re-animated and she got up from her chair and hurried off to get their coats. Maybe she knew a disaster had been averted.</p><p>Madeleine remained seated, holding her glass. She looked as deflated as Erik felt. The fight for propriety and sanity had become as hard for her as it was for him.</p><p>Erik moved to her and spoke quietly. “I am sure I will return, maybe soon, <em>without these two</em>, and we can finish the bottle together.” He reached for it and put the bung back in the top. “Save it for me, will you?” He knew she would not.</p><p>She looked up at him and stood up in a rush. “You will return, Erik – won’t you? It is so dreadfully sad here – I, I – don’t really know what to do with myself – “</p><p>“If I can, I will – “ Ah, what was he saying?</p><p>And then she threw herself into his arms again, and all but shouted, “I am terrible, dreadful woman – “</p><p>And because of the brandy he was able to lean down and softly kiss the top of her stale head and said with something like a smile, “yes. Yes, I think that you are.” <em>And you produced a dreadful son, so maybe that makes us equal?</em></p><p>He extricated himself from her and went into the hallway. Nadir had evidently been back up to the attic bedroom and retrieved the mask. He handed it to Erik and Erik couldn’t decide if this was a deep insult or a kindness. He put it back on out of habit.</p><p>And then they were dressed for the weather and they walked down the garden with the women, who watched as they mounted the horses and came to the gate and waved as they rode away.</p><p>As soon as they left the village, Erik pushed his horse to a gallop and when the horse was at full pelt, he gave a great cry into the wind and the rain, and he knew in his heart that he would never see her again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In Kay’s book, on the night that Erik runs away from home, Madeleine has a massive revelation about herself, does a whole lot of growing up and realises that she loves him after all and resolves to burn all the masks. But of course, it’s TOO LATE because when she wakes up he’s gone and it’s tragedy all the way from there. Kay has him return to see her when he is aged about 31 (and I think she must be about 48) but when he arrives ELLE EST MORT, and has been for a mere three days and they never get their reunion so it's even more TRAGIC.</p><p>So I wanted to allow her to say the things she wanted to say to Erik. I wanted to allow him to say the things he needs to say to her, and get over her a bit. I’m not sure you can get ever completely get over your mother, though. And I think, to be honest, dealing with your mother - even a fairly sane mother - takes a lifetime. (I say that as someone who is a mother!)</p><p>Thank you to aldonza and paperandsong for coping with me flailing about at them when I couldn’t think of any words at all with which to write this chapter. The least you can say about it now is that there are actually words in it.  Words help.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Three days in a hotel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Erik and Nadir have a bath.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They rode back in almost complete silence. Erik was in no mood for idle chat and by the time they reached Rouen it was dark and the wind was bitter. Erik was feeling nauseous and full of dread and sweat was running miserably down his back. He had wondered to himself many times on the journey back why he had not thought to bring the needle with him, he was a stupid thing, ever hopeful that today, this one time, he wouldn’t need it so soon, but he always did.</p><p>But they were staying in a hotel, a decided luxury for them both. And this was to make all the difference.</p><p>As he raced up the stairs to the room, he heard Nadir tell him to come to his room <em>afterwards</em> and he could barely grunt an answer.</p><p>Half an hour later, and feeling infinitely better, he walked along the corridor to see Nadir.</p><p>He was greeted with a wonderful sight. There was a fire, there was food and wine, and there was Nadir – and there was a steaming bath in front of the fire. He gave a little laugh, it was almost too good to be true, a morphine-dream.</p><p>Nadir beamed at him. “Welcome.” If he had looked more pleased with himself he might have burst.</p><p>Erik laughed. “You great idiot – what have you done?”</p><p>“I thought after today that you needed, no – deserved – something nice. I asked them to light a fire and draw up a bath! Would you like to undress yourself and get into it, before it gets cold?”</p><p>“I don’t think I’ve been in a bath since eighteen hundred and forty-three!”</p><p>“Ah – would you like me to explain how it works, Erik?” Nadir came over to him. “Firstly, you remove the mask – like that – and then you fling it over there – and then - you kiss your lover – “ He took Erik in his arms and they kissed long and deep, and Erik wondered if the bath would be forgotten about, just like that, but Nadir did not forget and continued to undress him, providing a silly commentary as he went, moving Erik closer to the bath and the fire each time he removed another piece of clothing. Erik noticed that Nadir was very aroused by this little charade, hard against his trousers and when he was completely naked, he pressed himself hard against Nadir’s hips and said, “perhaps you would like to miss out the bath – “</p><p>And despite the fact that Nadir’s hands were clasping Erik’s buttocks firmly, parting him, he was able to reply, raggedly, “get – in – the – bath.”</p><p>Erik kissed lightly him again and laughed and held out his long bony hand to be helped in, “I think you shall need to calm yourself then, Nadir.”</p><p>“Be quiet.”</p><p>The bath was entirely too small for his long limbs and his knees were up near his shoulders, but the water was warm and clean, and Erik found himself rather regretting that he’d not had a bath since 1843 and –</p><p>“I’m going to wash your hair – “</p><p>And a jug of warm water was poured without warning over his head.</p><p>“Oh! You could have warned me – “</p><p>And another. And another –</p><p>Erik shut his eyes and bowed his head and allowed himself to revel in the warmth of it. It was so easy. He had taken only enough morphine to feel better and very much hoped that this meant he would be able to – <em>later</em> -</p><p>“You really need a haircut, Erik. Your ears are sticking out of your hair.” Outrageously, Nadir bent down and <em>nibbled </em>at one of his earlobes -</p><p>Erik giggled, “stop it – “ and still with his eyes closed, he pushed Nadir’s face away with the palm of his hand.</p><p>And then he heard him pick up the soap and dip it in the water and lather it up in his hands. And then Nadir’s hands were all over his head, gathering up his ridiculous hair and kneading it and pulling it and gently rubbing his fingers into his scalp. He kept his head bowed, concentrating on the feeling of it all, finding himself curiously lost for words, for the feeling of being cared for like this was so entirely new.</p><p>And then he heard Nadir get to his knees beside the bath and took a sponge and wet it and moved it in circles over Erik’s back, “what a marvellous back you have! So long – “ he ran the sponge down his spine, and then over his shoulders, “you have such strong shoulders!”, under his armpits, lifting his arms and sniffing them “so hairy!”, the feeling of the sponge and the soap sensuous and soft all over his skin. He finally reached Erik’s crotch where he used his bare hand to ‘wash’ Erik’s cock, cupping his balls and he did so, he leaned forward and kissed him gently on the mouth. Erik opened his eyes and all but giggled into the kiss.</p><p>“What are you doing to me?” he said softly.</p><p>“Washing you! I think you’ve needed a wash for a while. Now. Shut your eyes. I’m going to <em>rinse you</em>.”</p><p>“You seem entirely too – “</p><p>He was doused with a jug of water.</p><p>“I am wondering, Erik, if anyone has ever given you a bath? Before now?”</p><p>At this he could not reply for a great sob formed itself in his chest.<em> No, I have never been bathed before Nadir, not that I can ever remember, she would never look at me, I was always sent to wash alone</em>. He took hold of the sides of the bath and screwed up his face, keeping his head bowed. His tears were washed away by the second jug of water that was dumped unceremoniously on his head. He gasped.</p><p>“Are you alright under there?”</p><p>Erik looked up and pushed his stupid hair away from his face, eyes full of tears. “Kiss me. I need to be sure.”</p><p>And Nadir crouched down and took Erik’s face in both hands and they kissed again. And the feeling of asking and receiving, so simply, just like that, was a wonder to him -</p><p>Nadir sat back on his knees and looked at him.</p><p>“I don’t know if I can bear it, Nadir – all of this – you – “</p><p>Nadir put his hand on Erik’s bony knee. He smiled, “Oh, I think you are doing quite well.” And then cupped Erik’s face in his hand tenderly and squeezed his earlobe. “Come on. Get out. I need to get in before the water gets cold.” He stood up and reached down taking hold of Erik's hands to pull him up. Nadir nodded appreciatively at Erik’s body as the water ran off him, as if admiring his own work. He draped Erik in the towel and rubbed his hair. And then put the towel around his shoulders. And he pulled Erik in for another kiss. “I don’t think I can resist kissing you, you strange man, you do all sorts of odd and terrible things to me.”</p><p>Erik felt himself become half-hard and pushed himself eagerly against Nadir.</p><p>Nadir laughed. “Wait, wait, I know you can – I will have a bath – sit on the bed – I know you like to watch – “</p><p>Erik obediently went and sat crossed-legged on the end of the bed. The room was warm from the fire and he let the towel slip from his shoulders and pool around him.</p><p>Nadir began to undress, exposing his soft and expansive belly, his beautiful round buttocks, the dark hair on his chest, those strong arms, his skin golden in the firelight. Erik drank the sight of him, an oasis of a man. He spat into his hand, quietly so that Nadir would not see, took a hold of his cock and began to draw his hand firmly up and down the length of it, and watched Nadir get into the bath.</p><p>“I know what you’re doing.” Nadir smiled but he did not look at him.</p><p>Erik huffed a little laugh, keeping up his slow rhythm. “You take your time – “ Indeed, time seemed slower, had taken on a softer edge.</p><p>“I’m not sure I want to, with you sitting there, watching me, doing that – I am beginning to feel quite jealous – “ He poured a jug of water over his head and washed the water from his face, his hands moving down over his shoulders, his armpits.</p><p>“Ah, Nadir – I am full of morphine – we will have all the time in the world – “ His eyes were becoming heavy-lidded and he tilted his head back a little watch.</p><p>Nadir laughed. “I am not sure<em> I</em> have all the time in the world, but for you – I will take my time.”</p><p>He made a great show of sponging himself all over, caressing himself, stroking his legs, even washing his toes, and his fingers, one by one, <em>sucking them</em>, which made Erik giggle. And then all of a sudden he stood up, the water coursing down his body; he shone golden in the firelight, his erection <em>huge</em>.</p><p>Erik’s eyes widened in appreciation with the wonder of the man before him, surely he was more god than man. He gave a little moan. He had become fully hard now, “<em>Jesus Christ</em>, Nadir, there is so much of you – to appreciate – “ He held himself firmer, pulled harder. “I think you should come here, immediately.”</p><p>Nadir smiled at him. He grabbed a towel. “I thought you said I had all the time in the world.” He got out of the bath slowly, and rubbed himself languorously with the towel, smiling to himself all the while. And then he sauntered over to Erik, knelt before him and pushed his legs apart at the knees so that his feet fell to the floor, hips wide. “And look at you! You really are in need of my help – “</p><p>Erik felt quite weak with desire. He let go of himself and leant back a little on his elbows, expecting Nadir to take him. “Yes, Nadir, I think – really – you have taken long enough – please - “</p><p>But Nadir sat back on his haunches, pretending to consider him. He took his own length in his hands and began to pull his hand firmly up and down the quite remarkable length of it.</p><p>“Oh, Nadir – don’t – “ Erik felt his own cock swell and twitch at the glorious sight of him, he half-sat up and he took hold himself again, hard, “I want you – not me – to – “</p><p>“Don’t what?” He smiled innocently, continuing to pull himself off. “You said you were – mmm – too full of morphine – which means to me – that you will need a - great deal of - time - “</p><p>“Maybe – <em>Jesus, Nadir</em> - maybe I underestimated – your – “ he laughed, “ – <em>fuck!</em> – your attractions – “ He could feel the warmth coming to his hips, his buttocks, his cock in his hand was almost painful as he held it tight at the base.</p><p>Nadir knelt up, pushed himself between Erik’s legs and ran his hands along the length of his lean thighs all the way to his hips, hands perilously close, and then back down again to grip them, almost too hard, in his big hands. “You poor thing – look at you! I think you really did underestimate me.” He took Erik’s hand delicately off his cock and put Erik’s forefinger into his mouth, sucking hard, tongue wet and hot.</p><p>Erik moaned and took a hold of himself with his right hand, and Nadir removed that hand too, and took Erik himself, his palm along the entire length of his shaft, stroking him as if he were trying to mold him into something else, cupping his balls. Erik gasped and he wondered if he could last long enough for Nadir to get his mouth anywhere near him.</p><p>And then Nadir began to theatrically lick his lips and with a ridiculous grin, which made Erik laugh again, bent his head low and licked up the underside of his cock, long and slow and wet.</p><p>Erik moaned again and collapsed onto his back with the pleasure of it.</p><p>Nadir leant back. He lifted Erik’s legs into the air and all but shoved him back further onto the bed. “I need to get in between your legs, if you’re going to lie back like that – “</p><p>“Just please – please get on with it – I don’t care – “</p><p>And then Nadir took Erik full in his mouth, his hand keeping up a beautiful rhythm, tongue everywhere, cupping and sucking and licking, in the eye of it, warm and wet and desperate.</p><p>Erik thrust his hand into Nadir’s wet hair and pulled on it, pushing his head down on to him as if to keep him there, and sooner than anyone expected, he felt himself fill and fill harder than he’d ever been and then “oh my god - keep going – please – “ he thrust his himself deep into Nadir’s mouth, and he felt the heat build and build, and then with a great sob he climaxed, the pulsing release of it held firm by Nadir’s wonderous tongue, ecstasy radiating out from his belly down to the very tips of his toes. And when it subsided, he struggled to sit up and he curled himself round to seek out Nadir’s mouth with his own, tasting himself on Nadir’s tongue, and pulling Nadir up his body, arms about his beautiful shoulders, hands down his back, and then they were lying face to face and he caught hold of Nadir’s cock, the eye already wet, and Erik knew he was so so near, and stroked him, his tongue deep into Nadir’s mouth, and Nadir came with a great groan into his hand, hot and pulsing, and he took hold of Nadir’s buttocks with other hand and pulled him apart, fingers deep in his flesh.</p><p>And afterwards, they kissed long and slow, and said sweet tender words to each other, and Erik felt that maybe, maybe things were going to be alright after all, and the washing of his heart and his body was symbolic in so many ways. And they wrapped themselves in the towels, and moved the bath and sat in front of the fire and ate the food, and Erik took a little wine, which made him joyously and alarmingly drunk <em>alarmingly</em> quickly, which he found vaguely hilarious, <em>fuck knows</em> what Nadir thought, because by then he was asleep in the bed.</p>
<hr/><p>They chose to wait out the turning of the year in the hotel. The spent most of the following three days holed up in Nadir’s room, eating and sleeping and fucking, their reputation be damned, and when they left the place on the second of January eighteen fifty-three, the concierge made a tutting noise as they walked past, and Erik, masked and his scarf tied tightly at his neck by Nadir, turned and bit his thumb at him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The barn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cows, goats and singing.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>' - When will my friend start singing again? - '</p><p>'Some Riot' - Elbow</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Nadir, go into the shop and buy a compass and a map of Normandy.”</p><p>They were standing near the side of the road at a crossroads in the centre of Rouen, the cobblestone streets ringing with the sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels. It was market day and very busy with crowds of eager people. Erik was anxious to get away from the place.</p><p>“What do we need a compass for? Are there not roads to the coast? With <em>signs</em>?”</p><p>“Yes, there is the post-road that goes up through Caen. But – I don’t want to travel on that road. It - it is always very busy. One ends up travelling with the same group of people and staying at the same stops and having to eat together each night. It happened a lot when I was with Guizot. It was – difficult – “</p><p>“So, you are suggesting instead that we buy a compass and just plunge through the countryside to get there? Where will we stay? How will you know if there will be a place each night?”</p><p>“There are hundreds of villages between here and there - I am good at navigation!”</p><p>“This is ridiculous.” He turned away from Erik and rubbed his face in frustration.</p><p>Erik dropped his head. He felt a wash of shame in his chest for being so weak, so abnormal for not wanting – <em>not being able</em> – to travel like normal men, but instead, as ever, making it all so much harder for everyone around him. He couldn’t think of a solution. He patted the nose of his horse with his free hand.</p><p>He heard Nadir sigh.</p><p>“I promise to look after you.”</p><p>Nadir looked at him with amusement. “Well, I am very much reassured by your promise. But on your head be it if we end up sleeping in a ditch overnight.”</p><p>“I told you this would be an adventure.” Erik smiled weakly.</p><p>“You’re a menace and I’m a fool.”</p><p>Within half an hour they were on their way from Rouen, after a rather fraught visit to a pharmacy – the pharmacist had insisted on asking Erik quite why he needed so much morphine and Erik had at first refused to answer and then, when pressed, almost shouted, “<em>diarrhoea!</em>” without looking up, and the pharmacist gave him up for too much trouble and gave in and sold him the stuff – and then the bookshop for the map, and the shop-that-sells-everything-else for the compass.</p><p>When they were well clear of the town Nadir insisted that they stop in order to plan their route somewhat, calculating which towns they could reach and by when. The journey to Granville, on the Atlantic coast, would take about four or five days, depending on the weather.</p><p>They travelled deep into the forest to the west of Rouen, making sure to avoid St-Martin-de-Boscherville, along wide, shallow rivers and up steep tracks, past crumbling grey stone cottages, through sad villages, with scattered hens in the road, and the occasional child, up to their knees in mud. Once a joker called out, "where's the third wise man?" for it was approaching Epiphany and people were looking for signs from God, anything, to show them that easier times were approaching. But mainly they rode through ragged, muddy fields with not a sight nor sound of anyone at all. Erik was very pleased with himself for having insisted that they avoid the post road, and after a couple of hours seeing no one else at all, he had the confidence to remove the mask.</p><p>Erik watched Nadir as he rode on ahead of him. His riding ability had improved dramatically over the past few days; he sat tall on his horse, his back straight and his hips moving in time with the horse’s body - <em>Christ, stop that - </em>and the animal had become steadier with Nadir’s confidence. Really, he was the most miraculous man with his thick dark hair and his olive skin and his patience and his kindness and his madness. For Erik, the previous three days had been something of a revelation. Three golden days that were, he could safely say, the happiest of his entire life. He had felt deeply and profoundly content and had thought that he would be quite happy if he never had to leave the room again. He had all he needed, and when Nadir had left the room to get some air (Erik told him this was a ridiculous idea, they had more than enough <em>air</em> in the room without going out to get more, and refused to join him) and come back with several <em>books</em> it had confirmed to Erik that he would more than pleased to live the life of a complete recluse, needing only and forever Nadir and his air-getting proclivities for company.</p><p>But now Erik’s mind was restless and soon it began to fold in on itself. Nadir was surely a madman, for who else but a madman would have taken off with him like this, plunging out of the light of Paris into the snow and the darkness? Only a madman or a very desperate one. Was it out of pure desperation that he had yoked himself to Erik? Because he had no other choice? Why else would Nadir be with him? That it might only be desperation was a very plausible reason and it made Erik’s heart ache a little to think of it. He encouraged his horse into a trot – he never used spurs – and came alongside Nadir.</p><p>Nadir turned and smiled at him. “Hello, you. You are worried.”</p><p>Erik caught his breath in surprise. He was so used to being able to hide his emotions behind the mask – or tell himself that he was hiding them – that being seen like this felt almost as if Nadir could read his mind. “Why did you come with me? Like this?”</p><p>“What choice did I have?”</p><p>“You came only because you had no choice? And if you’d had a choice? What then?</p><p>"You like this question, don't you Erik? I am wondering if we should have a set time of day each day when you can ask me." Nadir laughed, not unkindly.</p><p>Erik hung his head a little in shame. When would he ever be able to stop asking this?</p><p>"Ah don't look like that. You really are an open book to be read without that mask."</p><p>"I think I ought to put it back on." He went to open his satchel, slung over his right shoulder.</p><p>"No no, please don’t. I like your face – and I like knowing what you are thinking. And what you were thinking – again – is what such a marvellous specimen – such as myself – is doing with - "</p><p>“You<em> like</em> my face?”</p><p>“Yes of course I do. I like all of you. I like your face.”</p><p>Erik didn’t know what to say to this. The man <em>was</em> mad. They rode on in silence for a while. That Nadir <em>liked</em> him – face and all – still didn’t explain why he’d come with him.</p><p>“If you tell me why you came with me, once and for all, I’ll never ask again.”</p><p>“I do not believe you.” He laughed. “But did you want me to come with you?”</p><p>Erik blinked and said softly, “of course – <em>of course</em> – I wanted you to come with me, I just knew the first moment I saw you. I – I - couldn’t imagine you not coming with me. I can’t imagine – “</p><p>“Well then, it is the same for me. It was not a case of, ‘oh, let me decide what to do! Shall I go with Erik, or stay here and make a life for myself in Paris?’ When I say I had no choice but to come with you, I mean it is because there was no choice. I knew I wanted to come with you and nothing else would do.</p><p>“Erik, when I lost the two people most dear to me in the world – the two I loved so much I would have died for them, I thought I was shattered into a thousand pieces. That I could never know myself enough to want to know anyone else. But then one day, you - strange, irritable, shouting, <em>clever</em> – you - stamped – or it is stomped -?”</p><p>“I would say neither. I’d like to think I <em>graced</em> the room with my presence – “</p><p>“Ah – what is it they say? That you are <em>modest</em> as well as handsome? And then one day you <em>thundered </em>into the room, and I’d never met anyone like you in my life. Someone so utterly themselves. And so completely bizarre! I could scarcely take my eyes off you – and I just knew. It all changed. There was no choice then, there is no choice now. Did the previous three days not prove that to you?“</p><p>Erik bowed his head again. He couldn’t look Nadir in the eye. “Yes.”</p><p>“Then it is settled! No need to worry!” Nadir smiled triumphantly.</p><p>Erik gave a little laugh “if only it were that easy.”</p><p>They rode on for several more hours but the weather began to close in on them when they were still miles away from the town they had intended to reach by nightfall. Their map was of a poor quality, and only showed the major towns they would pass on their journey, and there was no spire on the horizon to indicate they were anywhere near human habitation.</p><p>"Erik, we will be in a ditch with the horses if we don't find somewhere soon.”</p><p>“Don’t start complaining. I will find us somewhere. Don't you trust me?”</p><p>Nadir did not reply</p><p>They continued on in silence. They had come to wide open plains with no shelter to be had from woodland and the weather was wretched. Erik began to feel a little desperate. He had enjoyed sleeping out in the night as a youth, finding secret places to watch the stars or people, high up in the branches of trees or on little secluded beaches, or watching from quiet places in the streets. But these outside nights were spent in places where the climate was warm and the darkness gentle, where nothing was needed to keep warm other than the shirt on his back. A frozen night in Normandy was not at all the same, and besides if he felt too old and weary for all that nonsense, he was certain that Nadir did too.</p><p>He had to find a place for them. He couldn’t fail Nadir again.</p><p>After another half an hour or so of anxious travel without any hopeful signs, Erik brought his horse to a sudden stop.</p><p>"I am ill Nadir. I need to stop. I need to - "</p><p>Nadir drew up beside him. "This is chaos. You are - we have nowhere to stay. You want to do<em> that</em>. It's becoming more frequent - "</p><p>"I know, I know - it'll be better afterwards though, I'll -" Erik dismounted the horse and gave the reins to Nadir.</p><p>"I’m sure you will feel better. But you are holding us up!"</p><p>He sat down on the bank, on the roots of a solitary oak and, took off his gloves got what he needed from his satchel. "Do you think I like doing this? In the mud? At the rear end of a farting horse?"</p><p>"I don't know why you think you should like doing it anywhere."</p><p>"I daresay I'll run out of it before we arrive and then you'll see why - " Erik muttered.</p><p>He found a vein on the side of his right wrist and delicately pushed the needle in. He took a deep breath. It was great and blessed relief. He shut his eyes briefly to let the first of it pass, and then determined not to make more of a fuss that he already had, he gathered his things and got to his feet. Erik noticed that Nadir had turned himself away so as not to watch and at this he felt a confusing mix of shame and anger. He got back on the horse without a word and encouraged it into a trot.</p><p>And within twenty minutes of further silent travel, they came across some farm buildings that had light at the windows, the shutters still open, and as they drew closer, they saw there were several outbuildings including a barn and a cider-press arranged around a courtyard. There was smoke coming from the chimney.</p><p>They stopped the horses a short way from the farm.</p><p>Erik said, “This looks promising. They are still awake. We could ask if we could stay in their barn.”</p><p>“A night in a barn. It is not quite a ditch, at least.” Nadir looked entirely unamused.</p><p>“Which of us is less alarming? To go and ask?”</p><p>“I think possibly, if you went to the door – you should – ah – replace the mask – “</p><p>“Christ – I’d forgotten!” Erik laughed. “<em>Jesus Christ Almighty</em>, I can’t imagine anything worse than me – “ He opened his satchel to retrieve the mask. What was Nadir doing to him, making him forget – like this?</p><p>“Well – you would get a reaction – but possibly no night in the barn.“</p><p>“Yes, alright – fuck off.” He laughed again and finished tying it on. “I will go. I can at least sound like I’m from around here.” He looked Nadir up and down. “They’ll be confused by you.”</p><p>“Confused by me, terrified by you. I think we will be very lucky indeed to be invited in. No, I will ask, Erik – I like your face very much, masked or unmasked and I do appreciate your, your - bravery in offering to ask them. I am alarming, but less so than you.” And before Erik could protest, he swung down from his horse and waited to Erik to do the same, before handing him the reins.</p><p>“No, no – stop! It will not do for you to go. They <em>will</em> be confused by you!”</p><p>“We can stand here arguing about which one of us is less alarming and we will still not have a place to stay. I’ll toss a coin.”</p><p>Erik won. Or rather, he lost. He would go to the door.</p><p>“Don’t sigh like that, Nadir. I am not a complete social failure.” <em>Oh, but you are!</em></p><p>The morphine gave him some semblance of confidence, but truth was he <em>fucking</em> hated this kind of encounter, one in which a door would be opened, and he would be suddenly and shockingly revealed – in all his weird glory.</p><p>And so, he knocked and soon he could hear excited voices inside coming closer to door, and it was flung open by a small, red-faced man with a huge grey moustache. Behind him were two equally small women.</p><p>“Oh!” the man gasped at the sight of him. “Saints preserve us! Who - <em>what</em> - are you?”</p><p>“Monsieur – <em>good monsieur</em> – please do not be alarmed,“ he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, and put on his thickest Normandy accent and used all the old words – “my companion and I – we are hoping that we – ah - could prevail upon your hospitality – and stay tonight in your barn – we are travellers – “ Was this a <em>normal</em> thing to say?</p><p>“You’re from round here? Where are you going? It is a terrible night to be travelling!”</p><p>“We are from Rouen. We are going to Granville, on the coast. The weather has thwarted us – we had intended to reach Brionne by nightfall.”</p><p>“It is a long journey. What’s with the - ” he made a circling motion at his own face.</p><p>“It is because of an accident.”</p><p>“Let me see.” The man folded his arms. The women behind him crowded in the doorway to get a better look.</p><p><em>Fuck!</em> “No – that will not be possible – the doctor – “</p><p>“Ah. “The doctor said.” How do I know you are not a thief – in disguise!” The group continued to stare at him.</p><p>The panic was rising in him. It should be Nadir here, talking with them. “I will give you my money – not take yours! – for the inconvenience.”</p><p>“I don’t want your money.” The man frowned at him. He turned back to the women Erik assumed were his wife and daughter and pushed the door so that it was almost closed. They held a loud conversation about what exactly they should do about the strange men on their doorstep. Evidently, they were very religious and considered that showing them hospitality was part of their Christian duty. Erik put his hands in his pockets. Whatever they decided their duty was he hoped they’d hurry up and make a decision. He was freezing. He heard the horses behind him snort and pace the ground.</p><p>Finally, the man opened the door to Erik. His demeanour had changed, and he was now welcoming and generous. “My good wife says she has enough in the pot to feed you both. And you can stay in the barn tonight. It is warm in there. With the animals. We want payment only in the form of a story. From both of you – it is very lonely around here, especially in the winter. We want the entertainment of strangers!” He gave Erik a broad smile and then called into his house for his son – Albert – to show them to the barn to leave the horses.</p><p>Soon they found themselves standing in the bright warm kitchen of the Courcy family, the man and his wife, their three children – two daughters, one of whom seemed of a similar age to Erik, one daughter of about seventeen and a younger son – and their maid and a farmhand. He and Nadir appeared to be giants amongst these people – the tallest of whom was several inches shorter than Erik. They were greeted by the family with blank-faced stares at their eccentric appearance and height, but they were soon chattering all around them, busy with the food and the table and teasing each other.</p><p>And because it was so unlike anything Erik himself would have considered, he hadn't at all anticipated being invited in to eat with this family. If he had been a farmer answering the door to two strange travellers asking for a place to stay, he would have sent them straight to the barn and hoped they left before dawn.</p><p>This situation was possibly even worse than any Erik would have found at a post-road inn, for there was no chance at all of eating in private and the interest shown in them was personal. There would be no escape from these people this evening. They were invited to sit at the large kitchen table with the rest of the family, extra chairs were found from other parts of the house, and people sat close together to make room for the unexpected guests. They were all given bowls of rich meat stew and cabbage and bread. They were a noisy, ebullient group who, despite their initial hesitation, seemed to relish the chance to entertain strangers at their table. Erik felt extraordinarily awkward, to the extent that he could hardly look up, let alone join in any kind of conversation and he could only manage to eat slowly, pieces of bread dipped in the stew, his stomach churning. The difference between the two family tables he’d eaten around recently couldn’t be more stark.</p><p>Nadir, on the other hand, was entirely at ease. He was open and friendly, and they liked his accent and wanted to see his brown skin, and he was soon laughing and joking with the family as if they were his own long-lost relatives. Erik listened to him, for they were sitting next to each other - Nadir was engaged in a highly animated discussion about the finer aspects of goat-keeping – and he felt himself relax a little with the joy of this man and felt deeply grateful for the fact that he could quite literally hide himself behind Nadir, who was happy to speak enough for both of them.</p><p>Presently, Monsieur Courcy brought out the cider. Nadir politely refused it. The family all noticed and fell into a shocked silence.</p><p>Erik turned to him and whispered, “don’t be a tit. If you refuse, they’ll think you are very rude. And besides, you’re just about to spend a night in a barn. In the winter. You can’t be sober for that.”</p><p>Monsieur Courcy looked back to Nadir, who gave him a little nod. Cider was poured for him; all would be well. The noise and chatter resumed.</p><p>Erik drank little of the stuff, knowing immediately that it was very strong and that he risked certain disaster to both drink the cider and so soon fill his veins with morphine. Nadir on the other hand, had no such compunction, and he drank it recklessly for he was an entirely new and inexperienced drinker, which amused Erik no end. He wondered how the night would continue from here.</p><p>And when they all finished eating, the women cleared the tables and Monsieur Courcy announced that it was time for them to give their payment in the form of a tale. Nadir, made loquacious with the drink, launched into a loud and meandering tale of love and loss, thievery and heroism, angry fathers and weeping daughters, and finished it with a ridiculous joke about a dog. The family laughed and cried in equal measure and begged him to tell another one.</p><p>And then it was Erik’s turn. He had said very little up until this point, and when invited to do so by Monsieur Courcy said. “Ah, I am not a story-teller like our friend Nadir, but I am a musician, and I would be greatly relieved if you would excuse me from a story, and instead allowed me to play you a tune on my violin.”</p><p>The truth was he did not want to perform, not at all. Yes,<em> fine</em> – in front of Nadir, an appreciative audience of one – he had so quickly established that it was an entirely different experience being looked at by Nadir. But in all other circumstances he loathed being watched so openly. He was always, <em>always</em>, haunted by memories of the fair. In his adolescence, when travelling about Europe with Guizot he was regularly made to play for the people of the houses where they were staying. He had, at first, tried to refuse to do this, but Guizot had threatened to take away his violin and prevent him playing the piano if he did not comply and so he had been forced to perform out of sheer desperation. He had learned to cope with his hatred of performance by imagining himself while doing it to be someone entirely different, certainly not himself, maybe a supernatural creature – a demon or an angel – something or someone who didn’t have horrible memories and odd, irrational fears and who wanted to cry all the time.</p><p>But there was still a curious desire to show off and he knew that he could manipulate people with the artistry of his playing. This ability to manipulate gave him an unsettling sense of power. A massive <em>fuck you</em> to the people who forced him to do this; if you will make me cry inside, I will make you cry and weep and wail in front of everyone. And then I will walk away and I will close my heart to you. He had long fantasized as a boy about inventing elaborate ways of performing so that people would not see him – ways to invert the old adage about children being seen and not heard, so that he could inflict himself upon them without the horror of being watched and judged by them.</p><p>Monsieur Courcy magnanimously waved his hand in a kingly gesture, which Erik took to mean yes – and he went to the hall to fetch the violin. Despite all the weather, the violin had remained dry, for he had hidden her well under his long coat as they rode. Erik stood in the kitchen to tune her while everyone watched him with silent anticipation.</p><p>And somehow this performance, here, with these people and Nadir, felt entirely different to the ones he’d given in the great houses he’d visited in the past. He felt that he could perform here out of a sense of common feeling, of communal enjoyment, a far cry from the alienation and anger he’d felt when performing as a youth. It felt this evening like he was a part of it all, included in the fun of it, rather than an object to be looked at and commented on. It was a new feeling and one he realised he liked.</p><p>Monsieur Courcy said, “we have never had a musician in our house before – only singers.” He gestured at his wife.</p><p>Erik smiled at him. “I hope I shall live up to the honour – “</p><p>“What will you play for us Monsieur?” the farmhand called.</p><p>“Anything you like – “ Erik called back. He felt open and happy.</p><p>“Something sad – to pull on our heartstrings!”</p><p>“No – no, something fast – monsieur, don’t listen to her – “</p><p>And they all began to argue about what he should play.</p><p>With a sense of great satisfaction, he shut them all up with a huge and powerful chord, played across all four strings – he heard them gasp – and then he launched into a Russian song; in a minor key, it started slowly and rhythmically, becoming faster and faster and until they were shouting and clapping along with it and they all gave a cry when he finished. They made him laugh with their enthusiasm – <em>yes, this is so different to before. </em>And they shouted for more, another one – his music rousing them to great excitement.</p><p>One of the daughters called out, “play us a waltz and we’ll all dance – “</p><p>And everyone agreed and the chairs were tucked under the table, partners were found, and Erik, caught up with it all, got up onto a chair in the corner of the room, which made everyone laugh even more. And he played them a waltz, slowly at first, teasing and sedate, gradually increasing in tempo until they weren’t waltzing but galloping round and round the kitchen, all laughing with delight. And then another, and another – each time the dancing grew wilder, and the laughter more raucous.</p><p>There came upon the group an atmosphere of great hilarity. Their faces were flushed with exertion and joy and the room grew hot as they danced. Round and round they went, almost wild with the release of it, with his music; Nadir had taken into his arms the eldest daughter and she danced with him with great abandon and Erik watched them most of all. Would this have been what Nadir was like with his young wife? And he smiled to himself; would he and Nadir would ever dance like that together?</p><p>Finally, Monsieur Courcy slumped down in a chair. “Ah I am exhausted.” He called to his wife, “Hélène, you will sing for us now, and our musician friend shall play alongside you – “</p><p>Hélène made a little show of not wanting to sing, but they pulled her up onto the table to everyone’s great amusement. She was a short, muscular woman of about forty, her long brown hair in a thick plait down her back. Her three children evidently regarded her singing ability highly.</p><p>Erik jumped down from the chair and gave her a little bow. “Madame, you are the star of this little show. I will play from the floor. You sing the first verse and I will join you after that.”</p><p>Her voice was a strong contralto, filled with a yearning passion that raised her simple folk song to something quite beautiful. She seemed to sing to him alone. He joined her on the violin in the second verse, pulling out the harmonies, becoming the undertow of melody, and with this they both seemed aware of a subtle shift in the feeling of the room, the listeners becoming more intent, drawing them in. He felt something stir within his heart, a warming, something that drew him out of himself; he began to hum as she played, adding further to their music, building on it, and she responded to him by increasing the fervour with which she sang.</p><p>For the last chorus, he brought the violin away from his shoulder, put the bow down and he was suddenly and intensely moved to sing with her, his clear, powerful tenor joining her voice, mixing it with it perfectly, bringing it forth. As he began singing, she faltered a little, but he made a slight gesture with his right hand as if he were beckoning her towards him and he did his best to communicate with his eyes; <em>Sing! Sing!</em></p><p>And how she responded to him! Their voices were so intimately entwined. And she held the last remarkable note as long as he did, still looking intently at each other and when they fell silent there was that moment of echoing silence from the listeners that comes after a moment of great beauty. And then they all erupted into shouts and applause laughter and Nadir took the eldest daughter in his arms and they kissed, and all the while Nadir kept his eyes on Erik as if to say, <em>if this could only be you.</em></p><p>And Erik looked back to Hélène, still smiling in her triumph and found himself wondering; what would it have been like to be this woman’s son? To have been born into this warm family, instead of at the cold and bitter hearth of his own mother’s heart?</p><p>And afterwards there was more singing and more dancing and laughter and a vast quantity of cider was drunk, until the early hours of the morning, a bright whirl of unexpected festival in the depths of a cold and dark Normandy winter.</p><p>Finally, when the family and the farmhand and the maid were all exhausted, and mainly entirely drunk, Erik and Nadir were given a gas lamp and some hastily assembled blankets and their coats and <em>everyone </em>came out into the courtyard and accompanied them to the barn, still singing, still swirling and laughing. Erik was all but carrying a giggling Nadir, who was draped round in his shoulders in order to stay upright. He thought that he had never been put to bed by so many people in all his life.</p><p>And when they were left alone in the barn, Nadir swung himself round and put his face very close to Erik’s, still holding onto him too tightly for support, and glassy-eyed but deadly serious, slurred, “I really love you, you stupid man.”</p><p>Erik laughed at him and untied the mask, and they kissed at last, greedy and sloppy, hands everywhere and then they collapsed in the hay together, Erik almost crushed under the laughing weight of Nadir. Nadir, discovered that a man in drink might be passionate and desirous of his lover but is disappointingly weak in his ability to <em>enact </em>those passions. But nevertheless, although Nadir was suffering a rare lack of ability in his trousers, he did not lack ability at all in hands, at least when he had Erik’s cock in them, and he pulled Erik off, long and slow, to Erik’s great satisfaction, the gas light fading and in the gentle presence of the cow and their horses and a suspiciously quiet goat.</p>
<hr/><p>Very early, Erik was woken by the sound of liquid reverberating in a metal bucket. He roused himself onto one elbow enough to see Nadir huge upon a tiny milking stool, his head resting upon the side of the patient cow, milking her. And then he stopped and brought the bucket to his mouth and drank from it deeply.</p><p>Erik laughed at him, "what the fuck are you doing? You can't drink all their milk!"</p><p>Nadir finished drinking and wiped his mouth. "Ugh. I am so thirsty. I feel so sick." He flopped against the cow again.</p><p>Erik cackled. "You succumbed to the demon drink and now you are being punished!"</p><p>"It is your fault."</p><p>"I didn't force it down your throat."</p><p>"I don't know how you do it."</p><p>"Practice."</p><p>“Oh, good God, I think I am still drunk.”</p><p>“You probably are.” Erik lay back down in the hay where he and Nadir had spent the night in a great bundle of limbs and coats. This time he found himself lying against another warm body and he turned to face the arse of a goat. <em>For fuck’s sake. </em>His own sickness was nothing to do with alcohol.</p><p>He found his satchel and did what he needed to do.</p><p>When he came back to himself, Nadir was still trying to find healing with the juice of a cow. Erik felt a sudden pity for him and roused himself and went and crouched down next to him. He reached out, quite tentatively, and rubbed his back.</p><p>“I am sorry you feel ill. It is very funny though.”</p><p>And they sat together in silence, with Erik’s hand resting on Nadir’s back, the only sounds were the soft sounds of the animals, the milk ringing in the bucket and the rain outside.</p><p>Erik did not notice the barn door being opened a crack, for they were both hidden from the door behind the cow. He did not notice a boy enter the barn and walk around to their side of the cow. He only noticed the boy when the boy started screaming.</p><p>Instinctively, and quite the opposite of what any normal person would have done at the sound of screaming, Erik instantly looked away. He growled at Nadir, “<em>get him out</em>.”</p><p>Nadir shot up, kicked over the bucket of milk, all but stepped over the crouching form of Erik, and bodily removed the still screaming boy from the barn.</p><p>Inside, Erik jumped to his feet, his heart hammering and raced about the barn, almost falling several times, gathering his things and Nadir’s from about the hay and tying on the<em> fucking</em> mask. What a fucking stupid man he was, so fucking naïve and trusting, to sit about unmasked, a ridiculous, careless, fucking dolt. How quickly his horrible face could ruin things. They would have to make a quick escape from the place now that his face had been seen. He began to frantically saddle up the horses. He could hear snatches of the heated discussion Nadir was having with the farmer – “no, he is not a monster – it was an accident – we are very sorry – we are leaving – “</p><p>Suddenly Monsieur Courcy burst past Nadir into the barn. “Take off the mask! My boy says you have the head of death – you are a devil! You have surely brought a curse upon my house! <em>I let you sing with my wife</em>!”</p><p>Erik was standing by his horse. He remained utterly still and said not a word. He could see through the barn door that the rest of the family had assembled outside in various states of dishevelment. As he had predicted, being in such close proximity to unsuspecting others had ended in disaster.</p><p>His overwhelming desire was to run – mount the horse and gallop away from these people as fast as he could, like an animal, not the man he was trying so hard to be.</p><p>Or he could use his face as a weapon against these people, to shock and scare them, as he had tried to do with Rafael. But doing this had brought him very low, almost to the point that he had thought that he might break completely. Revealing his face like that had made him feel so deeply disconnected from himself and others, as if he wasn't even human, completely separate, at a time in his life when he wanted more than anything to belong and to be included, that he knew he couldn’t do it again.</p><p>“Well – don’t just stand there, demon! What do you have to say for yourself – let me see your face!”</p><p>Erik continued to stare at the man. He tried to slow his breathing. And there came upon him a curious sense of calm, in spite of the panic. Was there another way? Could he talk to these people? Explain what he was? For the first time in his life could he try to have some semblance of dignity about his face – he would not tear off the mask to shock them, he would not have it forcibly removed, he would not <em>fucking cry</em>. Nadir had seen his face and kissed him, many times. His terrible mother – even her - had allowed him to sit at her table unmasked. It could be done! He could let them see his face and he could behave like a man.</p><p>Erik moved towards him, leading the horse. He was still breathing fast, “Monsieur, let me speak to you. And your family. Outside – “</p><p>The man frowned at him but turned and left the barn first. “The devil wants to talk to us!” he shouted.</p><p>Erik finished pulling on his long coat. He mounted his horse and took the reins of Nadir’s horse and rode slowly out into the grey courtyard. He was still filled with this strange sense of calm and determination. He looked down at them all standing there, and being so far above them all, even Nadir, was very pleasing. He took a deep breath. They stared up at him in confusion. The horses snorted in the cold air.</p><p>“Mesdames, messieurs, it seems I owe you all an apology. I made your boy very scared and have convinced him that I am some sort of monster. I want you know I am not monster but an unfortunate man. I will show you my face, Monsieur Courcy, as you have asked, so that you can judge for yourself, but I must ask - <em>please</em> - that you all try to refrain from screaming. It is very, " he shut his eyes, reached up to unite the mask and gritted his teeth, "it is very distressing for me - to be, ah - screamed at -"</p><p>"Monsieur, no, please - you don't need to do this!" It was Hélène. "Albert was rude to come in on you like that. Before you were ready. It has been a terrible misunderstanding. You told us yesterday you wear a mask because of an accident and that is a good enough reason for us. I - <em>we</em> - ” She looked furiously at her husband, “<em>we</em> know that you are not a monster or anything else for that matter. Please!”</p><p>Erik brought his hands down from his head, leaving the mask on. In that moment he felt a kind of love for her, so profound was his gratitude for her words. But he knew they had to leave immediately to avoid this situation getting further out of hand, to take advantage of the time the woman had gained them. He held out the reins to Nadir. Erik had slung Nadir’s coat over the horse, and now Nadir put it on, took the reins and mounted the horse.</p><p>“Very well. Thank you, Madame. Please accept my <em>sincere </em>apologies for frightening your son.” He stared at the boy, now quiet. Would the boy ever be asked to apologise for frightening him? Of course not! “My friend and I are grateful for your kind hospitality. In the barn. With the animals. We will leave now and promise never to return.”</p><p>They both left the courtyard at a trot, took the road to the west and did not look back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wanted to send E&amp;N to Granville entirely for my own entertainment. I had no idea how long it would take them by horse, and it seems there weren't any railway lines from Paris to this area of France in the mid-19th century. Hence the crazily long journey in the middle of winter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Granville</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Erik returns to visit Guizot.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They rode away from the rising sun, on the way to Lisieux.</p><p>Despite his long coat and the scarf wrapped tightly around his face, and the heat of the horse upon which he sat, Erik felt as if the bitter north wind had blown all the life from his body, all the flesh from his bones. The weak winter sun gave his back no warmth. He would never talk, much less, sing again. There was a terrible mixture of complete exhaustion with life and the light and the effort of continuing, and a fear so great he thought that at every step he might crumble. His shoulders were stiff, he gritted his teeth.</p><p>They rode side by side in silence for hours, days.</p><p>He would never sing again, he would never allow himself to be so open. What had possessed him to trust like that? He was a terrible fool and one who deserved all the screaming he got.</p><p>Eventually, Nadir broke their silence. “Well. That was a shame. What a horrible child. I thought you were very dignified – speaking to them on the horse.”</p><p>Erik said nothing. He could not speak.</p><p>“And the woman – who you sang with – she was very gracious. We can’t let an ignorant boy ruin things.”</p><p>Erik shut his eyes. He was weak with misery. What did Nadir know about anything? What was all this about ‘we’?</p><p>After a while, Nadir tried again. “We shall reach the next town by nightfall, hopefully. We will find somewhere quiet to stay. I very much enjoyed myself last night. Although I can’t say I will ever drink cider again. Good God! I am only just beginning to feel alright.”</p><p>Erik looked away from him. He would not speak.</p><p>“Are you going to remain silent forever? Erik? We had an enjoyable evening with those people – you were very happy. You made <em>them</em> very happy. I didn’t know you were such a singer! You have a wonderful voice – even I could tell! You can’t be brought down by a silly child. Come now. Talk with me.”</p><p>Erik could not look at him. The misery had changed to anger.</p><p>“It is your fault.”</p><p>Nadir laughed. “My fault?”</p><p>“Yes! It is all your fault.” He felt the floodgates open. “Because you are here. If you weren’t here - if you weren’t here to tell me lies - saying lies about my face - how you like it – lying that <em>you like my face!</em> – saying all this – “ Erik waved his arm dramatically, “nonsense! That you like me! I would never have gone there, never have gone and sat with you – and a cow! – and taken off the mask - for that boy to see me. It is all your fault. I believed you! You made me think – think that I could do it. <em>You!</em> With your words and your - your<em> baths</em>. You are trying to make into me something I can never be. I can never be what you tell me to be. I can never be <em>normal</em>. It is your <em>fucking</em> fault for making think that I can be. Why are you even here? Go and be with someone normal. Not me, who you have to lie to. Because all I want – <em>all I want</em> - is to believe your lies.”</p><p>“You are not making any sense. A boy screamed at you because I said I like your face?”</p><p>Anger was turning to the honey of self-pity, rich and sweet and irresistible. “You make me think I am normal, Nadir! By – by – being – by treating me - like – I am normal! When I am not!” Horrid tears sprang to his eyes and his breath hitched. He couldn’t ever be normal and he was a stupid <em>fuck</em> who cried all the time.</p><p>Nadir laughed again. “Dear thing. I don’t think you are in the slightest bit normal. I don’t want you to be normal. I am not trying to make you normal.”</p><p>“You make me think I am! You make me think I am like any other man!”</p><p>Nadir was silent for a while. He appeared to be deep in thought.</p><p>“Well – it is your fault!”</p><p>“Erik. Listen. You are truly my dear thing, I mean it. I think also - that I spoke wrongly. I think you are possibly the most normal man I have ever met – “</p><p>“Oh, fuck off – “</p><p>He laughed again. “You are also the rudest! Fucking it off yourself!” Nadir laughed at himself. “You are very normal because what you want, what I<em> think</em> you want – is to be – accepted – you want to be liked. You do! Just like everyone else! You are upset when a silly, horrible boy is frightened of you – because of your face – because it makes you feel rejected and – what is the word? - spurned. Which is entirely normal! You would not be normal if you didn’t care!”</p><p>“But my<em> face</em> – “ he cried.</p><p>“Your face is unusual, Erik. We both know that. But I still like it. And if by saying that I like you, I make you feel - like any other man – <em>because you are</em> – it is only a good thing!”</p><p>Erik squeezed his eyes shut and got the words out between sobs. “But – but it makes me – forget that – other people – they – “</p><p>“That other people what? Are alarmed by your face? I know what was done to you, Erik, when you were a child. A terrible thing. I know it is very – distressing - for you – I know that. And I know that what you want now is never to risk that happening again – “</p><p>“Yes! Which is why you need to stop - ”</p><p>Nadir suddenly looked very serious. “Stop what? Accepting you? <em>Liking you – </em>very much? Is that the answer? It would be better if I went away?”</p><p>Erik looked at him. Of course, he didn’t want Nadir to go away. What he wanted to take off the mask again. His face was wet and his weird nose was running. “I feel normal with you.”</p><p>Nadir laughed, “Because you are! Well, as normal as men of our sort can be! – But yes, because you are. Who cares what stupid children think?”</p><p>“Me. I do.”</p><p>“Yes, I know you do. And I don’t like it either. I don’t want anyone to scream at you, Erik – good God – it was awful. But it doesn’t happen often does it? Not now. And we will just be more careful.”</p><p>“What’s all this about ‘we’?”</p><p>“Stop being awkward. Now. <em>We </em>need to stop because <em>I</em> need a piss.”</p><p>Later that first day, when it was clear that there was no one around, Erik quietly took off the mask again. He knew he was a stupid man, he knew it risky doing such a thing, but the snot and the tears had dried on his skin and it was wildly itchy. He held the horrid mask in his hand, ready, just in case and when they finally came across a stream he was relieved to be able to wash his face, and cupped his hands in the water to drink. He noticed Nadir smiling at him as he got up from his crouch by the water.</p><p>“Are you feeling a little better now? Now that you’ve washed?”</p><p>“I think it is I who should be asking you that – I trust the milk revived you?”</p><p>“Only just. It is horrible stuff.”</p><p>“Well, not while it lasts – maybe you should have just carried on through the night?”</p><p>Nadir looked at him in horror. “Oh God! Don’t say you’ve done that? Tell me about this man Guizot you are so keen to see.”</p><p>They got back on the horses and moved off, Erik still holding the mask in his hand.</p><p>“I have done that, Nadir, and it worked very well. We should try it, one day. I will show you how.” Erik smiled nastily. “But yes. Guizot. He did me a very great kindness. A great favour, I must never forget that. He always wanted the best for me, he made it clear just what a sacrifice he made for me. Eight years of his life he gave to me, you know. We travelled about together. He taught me a great many things. He ensured that I got an education of the widest nature – “</p><p>“But?”</p><p>Erik gave a little laugh. “Yes. There was a ‘but’, you’re right. He always made it very clear just how much I owed him. How much he expected of me, because he had given me so much. He was always very clear that if it had not been for him, I would have led a very different life. And he was right – of course he was – I don’t know what would have become of me otherwise. But he was – he was – very exacting. He would not allow my failure. And I was not always capable achieving of his exacting standards. Academically, musically – there were no problems there. But the social demands he placed upon me. I found them too difficult. I am not capable, in that respect. I ran away a lot. There were punishments – “</p><p>“Physical punishments?”</p><p>Erik looked at him, puzzled. “Yes, of course. At first. The cane. His fist. Sometimes we fought. But as I grew, he realised he could no longer hit me. He would give with one hand and take away with the other. I was never sure where I stood. I often ran away but I always wanted to go back to him. Always <em>needed</em> to go back. I don’t know why.” Erik gave a little laugh, embarrassed.</p><p>“I wanted his approval, and the more I wanted it, the less he would approve of me. He took pleasure in his disapproval. He said I should make him proud but then said that I did not, that I was a deep disappointment to him. And I’d redouble my efforts to please him. And then he would make it seem as if I was imagining all this and he would be very solicitous and kind. I never really knew. I couldn’t really trust him! I don’t know. I think, perhaps, I wanted him to love me. I tried to earn his love. Good God!</p><p>“Eventually, we were back in Paris. I didn’t want to fail him, and so I allowed him to send my work to many of the architectural practices there. It was almost as if he was trying to show the world what he had done - with me. As if I was his creation. It seemed like that, at least. He didn’t say as much. I last saw Guizot two years ago when he came - to inspect me – while I was working. He found me wanting even then! And then he moved to Granville and I couldn’t see him anymore and at first I missed him, and then I realised that he did us both a great service. I needed to be free of him.”</p><p>“And yet you are going back to him now?”</p><p>“Yes. I can’t explain it. I feel almost compelled to do so. Like a salmon.”</p><p>“A what?”</p><p>“It’s a fish. They are compelled by instinct to swim thousands of miles upstream to, erm, reproduce.”</p><p>“Alright, Monsieur Salmon, what will you tell him when you get there? What will you tell him about me? And please don’t tell me you intend to reproduce.”</p><p>Erik laughed. “He knows what I am. He gave me a novel by Balzac when I was fifteen – because there are men such as us in his pages. And are you so certain I have not reproduced already?”</p><p>“Ah, how helpful of him. Good God above, Erik. This is quite plainly ridiculous. Are you still intending to stay by the coast until the spring?”</p><p>“Yes, and I was hoping you will stay with me. We will rent a house!”</p><p>“Marvellous. I have absolutely every confidence that this will all work out exactly as you have planned…”</p>
<hr/><p>The journey to Granville took them four days.</p><p>They arrived that first night in Lisieux, then onto Falaise, Vire and finally Granville on the coast. The weather remained horrid and there were times, on the hills, when it seemed as if they were travelling through the clouds.</p><p>Their way led through dripping forests, the trees bare and grey, the forest floor soft and deep with fallen leaves. They went along ancient cart paths, cut deep into the ground over successive centuries, through gnarled and empty orchards with the end of last year’s harvest rotting on the ground; past sad, standing cows and shouting crowds of noisy geese. They avoided the villages, skirted around them, and in any case, as Erik had said, all the people were hibernating, preserving their energy and their fuel for the spring, and so they met no one on their journey apart from when they arrived at the small towns where they stayed overnight. They stayed in deserted inns, for no one was making a journey such as theirs at this time of year, in this weather, and so were left almost entirely undisturbed. This isolation did Erik a great deal of good and he began to recover some of the confidence he had so dramatically lost in the barn near Brionne.</p><p>They would stop to rest the horses at the oxbows of the shallow rivers that wound through in the valleys of the gently rolling hills. These rivers, sometimes little more than a stream, were often guarded over by a shrine to the local water fairy, transformed for the benefit of the priests into the Virgin, decorated with mistletoe and holly and a pitcher of water for thirsty travellers, the people here still mainly druids, still in thrall to the spirits of the place rather than the god of light and books and stone buildings. There was a time once when Erik, forgetting his vow never to sing again, made the Virgin sing for Nadir, a haunting siren song, and confused him so much – for naturally Erik was nowhere near Our Lady of the Song - that he jumped away from her and fell into the water, and Erik almost choked himself with laughter.</p><p>Near the end of the fourth day of travel, the land and the sky finally opened up to reveal the great expanse of the Atlantic coast and they began their slow descent to the fishing port of Granville. The wind brought with it the taste of the sea and the promise of wide, open spaces and long beaches and the rhythms of the tides. It had been years since Erik had last seen the sea. When in Italy he had at times sought refuge in the Mediterranean, swimming in the moonlight in the rockpools with the anemones and the red octopi hidden the crevices of the rocks and the glimmering shoals of fish. The tideless, warm Mediterranean sea in summer was a far cry from the grey and restless Atlantic in winter.</p><p>Guizot lived in the fortified part of the town, that was built high above the water on the dark cliffs, attacked on both sides by the sea. Erik hoped Guizot had received his letter informing him that they would be arriving soon. He hoped that there would be room enough for he and Nadir to stay, at least for a night. He hoped so many things but most of all he hoped that Guizot would hold his tongue, that he would not be too violently disappointed in Erik and all his deeds, that somehow he would inspire in Guizot a modicum of pride. He thought that perhaps he would not.</p><p>Erik was vaguely aware that Guizot’s sister Marthe and her two daughters now lived with him, since the death of Robert two years ago. Erik had not seen the daughters, Elodie and Patrice, since they were all children, in those early days after he had been rescued. They had at first been very frightened of him, and he of them. At that point he could barely remember his own name, let alone be on friendly terms with two scared little girls only a couple of years younger than him, and who were given to crying whenever they saw him. But by the time he and Guizot left on their eccentric grand tour of Europe a few months later, he and they had become something approaching friends. He gave them very formal piano lessons, which more or less on every occasion descended into weeping and recriminations on all of their parts, but there were rare occasions where instead of crying they would manage to talk to each other, even argue, like fairly normal children.</p><p>It was almost dark when they reached Granville, and it had begun to rain heavily, the wind sweeping it in drifts across the road. The road ran down in a wide arc towards the fishing port, and then up again into the old part of the town, past the lighthouse, past dark imposing buildings set hard against the strength of the sea, shutters like eyes closed up against the weather.</p><p>As ever – it seemed - Erik was feeling ill. He had taken very little morphine as he had used the last of it that morning, and would now have to wait until tomorrow to try to find more, and this, combined with the extreme nervousness he felt at the prospect of seeing Guizot again and the fact that he’d brought Nadir with him, meant that he was almost overcome with nausea and dread. The events of the previous week, and all the travelling they’d done, left him exhausted and he wondered how he would cope if Guizot’s reception of them both was less than enthusiastic.</p><p>Guizot’s house was one of the biggest in the town. In front of the house was a little courtyard garden. Erik dismounted from his horse and gave the reins to Nadir, who led both the horses into the garden. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, as hard as he could, for it was heavy and he couldn’t be sure that the sound would travel to the rest house. The lights were on – surely someone would be at home?</p><p>Within a few minutes the maid came to the door. She gasped at sight of Erik, and immediately slammed it shut.</p><p>Erik heard Nadir laugh. The sound made him laugh in desperation. <em>Shit. </em>They’d travelled all this way only for the door to be shut in his face. What the fuck would they do now?</p><p>But it was dark in the street, it was raining, Erik was wet, the mask he was wearing was black; he couldn’t blame her for being scared.</p><p>“Ah, your effect on the fairer sex, Erik, it is a wonder to see.”</p><p>“Piss off.”</p><p>“Do you want me to try? Perhaps you have brought us all this way only to forget where this man lives? We will have to knock on every door! I will have to - ” Nadir was still laughing. How could a man be so calm in the face of such certain disaster?</p><p>“Give me the horses. Yes, I’m sure this is it.” He wasn’t sure in the slightest, he had memorised Guizot’s address days ago.</p><p>But before Nadir could knock again, the door was flung open to reveal the unmistakable figure of Guizot, only shorter and rounder than ever.</p><p>He looked up at Nadir. “Who’s there? Who are you?”</p><p>Nadir turned and all but pulled Erik – and the horses that he held by each hand - into the light from the house.</p><p>“Erik! It is you? Good Lord! We weren’t expecting you for at least another week! Come, come – let us get you in!” He turned away and bellowed down into the depths of the house for the man-of-all-work and then turned back to Erik and Nadir. “You are entirely drenched! What a great surprise this is! We are all here! And who is this?”</p><p>Nadir began to remove their things from the horses, Erik, still holding their reins, did his best to return Guizot’s apparent enthusiasm.</p><p>“This is my – friend – Nadir Khan – I am glad you received my letter. I was not at all sure that – “</p><p>“Welcome Monsieur Khan – welcome, welcome! Yes, get your things – where is the man?”</p><p>Presently, the man-of-all-work arrived, looking as if he had been dragged from his sleep and took the horses away.</p><p>They went into the hallway of the house, the rainwater running off them. Guizot shouted, “look who it is, Marthe!”</p><p>They were soon joined by several women who Erik assumed were Marthe and her daughters, for they had changed a lot since he had last seen them, who greeted them with smiles and laughter and fussed over them taking their coats and hats.</p><p>And finally, when the coats had been removed and all the expressions of surprise and joy had been made by the women and Guizot, there came an awkward silence as they all stood there in the hall. Erik was aware that they were studying him intently.</p><p>It was broken by Patrice, the youngest of Guizot’s nieces. “Erik, what has happened to you? You’re – you’re so – thin!“</p><p>Guizot gave a great laugh, “Come now, let us go through to the kitchen. We will find you something to eat and drink – I daresay you are eager for both! And then you can let us know your news, Erik – and introduce us to your friend.”</p><p>They all followed Guizot to the kitchen where they found the harassed looking maid, and food and drink were produced, and then much to Erik’s surprise and gratitude, Guizot suggested that he and Nadir were left alone in the kitchen to eat while the maid prepared their rooms, evidently remembering his odd eating habits from their years on the road together.</p><p>Erik and Nadir spoke little during their meal in the dimly lit kitchen. Erik was unable to eat much at all but drank several glasses of wine, most of the bottle, to Nadir’s evident concern. Despite Guizot’s noisy welcome, Erik was still worried about the conversation he was shortly to have to have with the man; why they had come, the numerous ways in which he was failing in his life, who precisely Nadir was, why indeed he was so <em>fucking</em> thin. Could any of this be kept secret? And how? He was unable to sit still. Nadir seemed lost in his own thoughts.</p><p>And when they had finished, they followed the soft sound of voices along the corridor, and found Marthe and daughters, and Guizot sitting in a small warm room, richly decorated with tapestries and dark red rugs and oak panelling on the walls and a roaring fire under a big stone lintel. The women were engaged in a game of cards. Guizot had apparently been reading.</p><p>Guizot stood to welcome them and offered them cognac, which Erik took rather too eagerly, and they all looked at him expectantly waiting for <em>the news.</em></p><p>Erik sat on the edge of his chair, hunched over, elbows on knees.</p><p>Guizot shifted to make himself more comfortable. “So Erik, you have finally come to see us. I trust that the food was to your satisfaction? Jeanne is a good girl.”</p><p>“Yes, thank you – it was very good. Nadir - ?”</p><p>Nadir nodded his agreement.</p><p>Guizot continued. “It must have been quite a journey. It is unusual to travel so far at this time of year. Which way did you come? Through Caen?”</p><p>“No, we came through Lisieux and Vire. I – I preferred to avoid the post-road – “</p><p>“Mm. Yes, you still play your old avoidance tricks?”</p><p>Erik looked down. “Yes.” He coughed a little laugh. “Yes, you could say that.” He took a large drink of cognac.</p><p>“I would have thought you had grown out of all that. Especially now. With your <em>handsome </em>friend here. To accompany you.”</p><p>The women had stopped their card-playing and were listening intently. Nadir shut his eyes. The fire crackled in the hearth.</p><p>Erik could not look up. The desire to please Guizot was still very strong. The knowledge that he could not do so, ever, took away his breath. He clasped the glass tightly in both hands.</p><p>“It was not so bad. We made good time, despite the weather. I was – . We saw the cathedral at Lisieux – “</p><p>“The cathedral, eh? I would not have thought you a cathedral man, these days.” His eyes flicked to Nadir.</p><p>Erik laughed. He could see the way this evening was going to go. “As monuments to corruption, I find my interest in cathedrals entirely appropriate, wouldn’t you say?”</p><p>“Mmm. Giradin tells me you have been doing well. As we expected you to do, of course. He tells me you lead on new commissions and usually win them. I hope you give me the credit I am due.” Guizot gave a little laugh.</p><p>“But he didn’t tell you that I’d come here?”</p><p>“No, I received that information from your own hand.” Guizot gave a forced smile.</p><p>Erik felt deeply relieved to hear this. They spoke for a while about the work that Erik had completed at the practice, the work he was now involved with. He even found it within himself to ask Guizot a technical question which the old man seemed to enjoy explaining to him, his vanity ever thirsty. It felt safer here, on these dry subjects.</p><p>But Erik could not resist ruining it. “We went to see Madeleine. She – she looked older.” He looked fiercely at his glass.</p><p>“Indeed. I try to keep her up to date with your – life, such as it is - but you have given me little to go on recently.”</p><p>“She did not seem at all happy.” He took another big gulp of cognac.</p><p>“No. Since you left her, I would not say she has known a day’s peace.”</p><p>“It was not my fault.”</p><p>“No – “</p><p>“You didn’t tell her I was in the fair. She - she vomited when I told her. Why did you keep it from her?”</p><p>Guizot looked over to Marthe. “I think it best, Marthe, if you and the girls retire to bed now. This is not a suitable conversation for young ladies.”</p><p>The women got up to go obediently. As she left, Marthe placed her hand on Erik’s shoulder and said with a smile in her voice, “it is good to see you again.”</p><p>It didn’t feel good to be seeing anyone again. Nothing felt good at all. He did not look at her.</p><p>When they closed the door behind them, Guizot leant forward to mirror Erik.</p><p>“I did not tell her Erik, because I knew that if I did, she would have demanded to have you back with her. Out of some misplaced sense of pity, or guilt. I saved you from a childhood locked up in her house. I knew that I could give you a better life than her. Don’t you think?”</p><p>Erik looked at him with amazement. He felt muddled and angry. “You didn’t give me – us – any kind of choice!”</p><p>“You did not want to go back to her! A boy does not need his mother after the age of seven, we both know that. I knew that I could mould you; your mind, Erik – it was <em>ripe</em>.”</p><p>“You let me hate her even more than I already did.”</p><p>“You, dear boy, were the one who refused to read her letters. And would you really have gone back to her had you thought she’d known where you’d been? Never.”</p><p>“You should have told her! You should have explained to me what you did!”</p><p>“Stop being so melodramatic. I see you’ve not grown out of that, either.” He turned to Nadir, “does he give you a lot of trouble, too? The fights we used to have, <em>Monsieur Khan</em> – he was a very difficult boy, I used to have to pin him down. Do you have to do that?“</p><p>Nadir looked at Guizot. His voice was expressionless. “No. He is not melodramatic at all, these days. Not that I have ever noticed.”</p><p>At this, Erik almost laughed with gratitude. He had grown used to Guizot’s verbal humiliations as an adolescent and he had forgotten – or put it from his mind – just how humiliating he could be. Yes, the man had been very kind to him, mostly, but there were many <em>many</em> times when Guizot had made the solid ground under his feet seem like quicksand. His only recourse then had been to run away. He would not run away from him now.</p><p>“Well, that is good to hear.” Guizot took a drink from his glass.</p><p>They sat in a silence for a while. Coming here had clearly been a terrible mistake. Nothing had changed. In fact, it had become worse. Nothing he could say would make any difference. But he would not run away.</p><p>“Why did you leave Paris? So suddenly? When you had work? What did you do? You realise that a man such as yourself is very lucky to find employment of that nature? It would be a pity to have thrown it all away.”</p><p>“I haven’t done anything. I came because I haven’t seen you in two years.”</p><p>Guizot leant back in his chair and looked down his nose at Erik. He spoke slowly. “Still a liar, I see. I could never beat it out of him, his deceit.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?”</p><p>“Of course, Giradin told me you had left Paris. He gave me no details of the scandal. He said he thought it better that you tell me.” He spoke very softly. “What did you do, Erik? You didn’t think you could come all this way and keep this a secret?”</p><p>Erik drained his glass. He would not run away. He stared back at Guizot. He had spent the past ten years trying to earn this man’s love and nothing, nothing he did would be good enough. It now seemed as if the end of a very long road had been reached.</p><p>“You would like more?”</p><p>“Yes.” His voice was rough.</p><p>Guizot reached over and poured another glass. He chuckled. “It must be something very awful. You and your terrible nerves. The lying can’t help. Did it involve him?” He gestured at Nadir.</p><p>Erik felt his throat tighten.</p><p>“Remember, I know what you are. It is not hard for me to guess.”</p><p>“Guess then.”</p><p>“A man?”</p><p>“He was trying to blackmail me.”</p><p>“I thought as much,” he said triumphantly. “What did you do to him?”</p><p>Erik remained silent and put his hand over his mouth without thinking. He was a boy again, helpless, furious.</p><p>“Erik, if you refuse to tell me, I will have both of you thrown out into the street this very second, and I will never see you again.”</p><p>Erik looked from Guizot to Nadir. He felt desperate. He took another big gulp of cognac. It didn’t help.</p><p>“I revealed myself – and him – to others.”</p><p>“Your face? Or his predilection – for you?”</p><p>Erik felt very small, his voice smaller. “Yes. Both.” He drank again.</p><p>“Ah, the face that could launch a thousand ships. You know, Monsieur Khan – he refused to show me his face for the entire time we travelled together. Have you seen it?”</p><p>“It?”</p><p>“I do beg your pardon – your <em>young man’s</em> lovely face.”</p><p>Nadir leant towards Erik, “I think that we should leave now – “</p><p>“Leave? But you have only just arrived! Come, come – we are all friends here. He knows that I only jest, don’t you Erik?</p><p>Guizot paused as if deep in thought and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “So, you have come here to escape a scandal, leaving the employment that I worked <em>so hard</em> to ensure that you had, so that you would never have to - <em>reveal</em> – yourself in that way again. And yet you are here precisely because you couldn’t resist doing so. All that time, all that effort – wasted! What has become of you, dear boy? The fairground impulse never left you, I see.”</p><p>Nadir rose from his chair, “Stop this - “</p><p>“Sit down! Don’t be so ridiculous. You’re all the same, <em>your type</em> – all this melodrama. I am only speaking the truth. All the time and effort I poured into this <em>creature</em>, only to have him arrive on my doorstep having torn all my hard work to tatters! Bringing the likes of <em>you</em> with him! I carried him from that fair like he was my own son, it was a terrible thing they did to him; I gave him all I had, and this is how he repays me! But – “ Guizot’s voice suddenly softened, “But if you come to me for safe harbour, I will offer you safe harbour. Just like I always have done.”</p><p>Erik leant back in the chair. He was defeated. He was drunk and he could feel the sweat begin to run down his back.</p><p>Nadir touched him on his shoulder, “Erik, let us leave - “</p><p>“If you leave now, Erik, you will never see me again.”</p><p>Erik suddenly stood up. “Don’t touch me, Nadir – where <em>the fuck</em> do you think we will go? Now?” He heard his voice slur. “I am not leaving. Everything. He says. Is true.”</p><p>“You should help him up, Monsieur Khan. Does he often get like this? I do hope not. I will lead the way to your rooms. Sadly I cannot permit you to inhabit a single room!” He gave a nasty laugh.</p><p>Erik refused to be helped by Nadir. He was confused and humiliated and angry. He made it to the bedroom upright by sheer force of will, and slammed the door shut in their faces.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The accidental holiday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They've gone on holiday by mistake.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Erik crept into Nadir’s room very early the following morning. He stood for a moment in the dark and watched Nadir’s sleeping form. Erik himself had not slept at all despite the alcohol and now felt viciously ill, full of dread and anxiety, sweating and cold. He gathered himself and crouched next to Nadir’s face and shook his shoulder.</p><p>“Wake up. Nadir – wake up - “</p><p>Nadir sat up with a shout of shock. Erik jumped back.</p><p>“What is this – what are you doing? What time is it?”</p><p>“We need to leave, I have to go. I can’t stay here any longer.”</p><p>Nadir lay back down. “No. It is too early. Go away.” He pulled the blankets over his head.</p><p>Erik pulled the whole lot entirely off him. “Get up!” he hissed. “Get up or I am leaving you here for ever.”</p><p>Nadir sat up again and flopped his arms on his thighs in disgust. “Good God – what do you think you are doing? It is not even light! Where will we go at this hour?”</p><p>“I cannot stay here a moment longer. You saw what he is like! And I am ill, Nadir – <em>so fucking ill</em> – I need to find – “</p><p>“You’re shouting – stop shouting. Goodness me. You will wake everyone up with this.”</p><p>“Please Nadir, I need to go. I can’t bear it.” He started to throw clothes at him.</p><p>“Alright, alright. What about the horses?” Nadir sat passively on the bed, draped in his clothes.</p><p>“They’re coming.”</p><p>Erik had already been to see the man-of-all-work to demand that he get the horses from the stables, and the man had at first refused saying it was too early; Erik had rather nastily pulled rank on him with an empty threat about his job. The man had obeyed then.</p><p>Nadir began to get dressed. He spoke in a loud whisper. “Is this to do with your need for morphine or your desire to get away from Guizot? Because last night, when I suggested we leave, you were very insistent that we didn’t. What has changed?”</p><p>“What do you think? I can’t stand him. I thought it would be different. Now that I am – not a child. But he is worse!” He suddenly grabbed his hair with both fists and gave a shout of something like frustration, something like pain. “This was! A terrible! Mistake!”</p><p>“Well, yes.” Nadir pulled on his shirt and stood up. “You could say that. Will this place even have morphine?”</p><p>“Don’t even fucking say that. Hurry up!”</p><p>“All this is ridiculous. It’s too early – “</p><p>“I never want to see him again – we have to leave now.”</p><p>“Alright, alright. I know.”</p><p>Erik waited by the door for Nadir to finish getting dressed. He wrapped his arms tightly about his body and was unable to stand still.</p><p>When they made it downstairs, they gathered the last of their things that had been left in the hall. Erik opened the front door to find the man with their horses waiting outside in the road. In the pre-dawn light, even Erik could sense his anger. He took the reins from him and gave the man a coin but said no word of thanks or apology.</p><p>“What should I tell the master?” the man asked.</p><p>Erik managed to pause long enough to look at the man. “Anything you like. Tell him Erik sends his love. Tell him, Erik thanks him for the privilege of being <em>his creature</em>. Tell him Erik is deeply grateful for everything he did for him. Tell him - ”</p><p>“Erik – stop – “</p><p>He turned to Nadir and hissed, “you tell me what to say to him, then – the bastard – “</p><p>“This man can’t say anything. It is futile unleashing your anger on him. Let us leave before anyone wakes.”</p><p>They walked the horses down into the town in silence. The hour seemed early to Erik and Nadir but bakers had been working at their ovens since the middle of the night, and were now opening up their shops, the beautiful smell of fresh bread filling the narrow streets. This did not interest Erik. They tied up the horses and went their separate ways, in each search of very different forms of sustenance.</p><p>Erik came across what appeared to be little more than an apothecary shop in a side alley. He peered into its murky windows and could see movement inside, and when he tried the door by some miracle of heaven it was open. He had to stoop to go in. He stood in the doorway for a moment to adjust to the lack of light for it was very dark inside.</p><p>An old voice came from the back of the shop. “Can I help you? Do you realise how early it is?”</p><p>Erik could not tell if it was a man or a woman. “Ah, excuse me, please. I am – unfortunately rather in need – “ He was on the verge of a deep humiliation, sure that he would have to beg for what he needed. He didn’t care.</p><p>“Of what?” snapped the old voice.</p><p>Fuck, just say it. “Morphine.”</p><p>“Oh, you are a modern one, are you? Let me see what I have – “ came the sing-song reply. The person ducked down behind the counter.</p><p>“Do you have any or not, because if you don’t I’ll not waste your time and mine - “ He moved deeper into the shop. This was plainly a hiding to nowhere.</p><p>Still hidden behind the counter, the old woman, for Erik was almost sure it was a woman said, “Patience, patience, young man. Let me see, I thought I might have something - ” She seemed to rummage in the cupboard. “Here!” She sprang up suddenly, for it was a she, her white hair pulled tightly from her face, holding a wooden box. “The doctor always wants some of this new stuff in stock, for there are others here like you – he says it helps, although I am not so sure – “</p><p>Erik almost fell on the counter with relief, “oh – God – “</p><p>The woman laughed. “Do you have what you need? To take it?”</p><p>“Yes, yes - how much – for all of it?”</p><p>“You’re not having it all!” She clutched the box to her breast. “Who do you think you are? What about the others – “</p><p>Erik shook his head a little in frustration. “How much for half of it? Just – <em>tell me</em> – Christ – “</p><p>The woman took a vial from the box and handed it to him. “Use this and then we will talk. Come and sit behind here with me.” She opened up the counter. “I will light you a lamp. I can’t have this sort of behaviour in here.”</p><p>Erik looked at the old woman in wonder and then did as he was told. At this stage he would have done anything anyone told him to do, without hesitation, if meant that the relief of morphine would come quicker.</p><p>She sat very close to him and watched as he took off his coat and rolled up his sleeve, and then got the needle in its case from his satchel and assembled it.</p><p>“I see you have been doing this a while. Why did you run out of it?”</p><p>He didn’t want to speak, but she was being so kind he felt he owed it to her. He tried very hard. “I have been travelling for several days.”</p><p>“Mmm.” She paused, still watching him. “It is no good, all this, is it?” She spoke gently.</p><p>He gave a little laugh as he drew the morphine up into the syringe. “No, not really. It is horrid. But – “</p><p>“Stopping seems like too much?”</p><p>He was near tears with her kindness and the sheer desperation he felt to get the stuff into his vein. “Yes – always – “</p><p>He examined his hectic arms for a suitable place. He noticed that she did too. He couldn’t give a fuck that she was watching.</p><p>“What about there?” She pressed his forearm with her finger.</p><p>He looked up at her incredulously. Was this some kind of weird dream? Who was this woman? “Yes – thank you.”</p><p>She cackled. “You’re very polite.”</p><p>He pushed the needle in and then pressed the syringe down. He waited a moment for the relief to come, which it surely did, thick and heavy through his head, his body, down to the very tips of his toes, a river of sweetness. Fuck, it was vile, it was ecstatic, it made him gasp.</p><p>He took the needle from his arm and leant forward to hold his head in his hands, needle held between his forefingers. The woman, bizarrely, he thought later on, patted him tenderly on the head. He had no particular thoughts now.</p><p>And when the initial rush of it had passed, he opened his eyes and looked up. She was still there, watching him very seriously.</p><p>“You need to stop this, don’t you?”</p><p>Erik sat back.</p><p>He thought how slowly he was now breathing, how beautiful this ancient woman looked in the dim light of the gas lamp, she was an oracle, a witch – he could easily love her. He wondered how long she would allow him to sit there. He could have stayed there all day, with her, in this darkness.</p><p>“Maybe. One day.” He spoke quite slowly.</p><p>“It’s what they all say, my love, my sweet boy.” She gripped his knee, for they were still very close. “And the day never comes. And one day they find it is all over, and they never knew it, how quickly time would pass, the passing of their entire life – all lost, all gone, chasing the impossible. You are very young, I can tell. You should not give in to this. It will kill you, you know. I’ve seen them come in here, the modern ones, the terrible things it does to their arms, their legs. They beg for my help, but what can I do? One of them died only recently – not the morphia but where they put it in, their arm, their leg, all putrid, swollen. The pus and the fever! It will come to you too, young man. You think yourself immortal, but you are not.”</p><p>Erik sat very still, he wondered if he was dreaming. “Why are you saying this?”</p><p>“Who else will say it if not me?”</p><p>Erik looked towards the window. “Nadir,” he murmured, “he says it.”</p><p>“But you don’t listen to him do you?”</p><p>Erik smiled. “No, not about this. He doesn’t know what he is talking about.”</p><p>“If he sees your arms, I think that he does.”</p><p>“Mm. I will feel so ill, if I stop.”</p><p>“Don’t be a coward. You will have a week of shitting and vomiting and thinking that you will surely die, but you will not, and in the end you will have saved your life.”</p><p>“You make it sound so easy, Madame.”</p><p>“It would be a week, to save you from a lifetime of this – “</p><p>“What do you know?”</p><p>She smiled. “I know many things, my sweet boy.” She gripped his knee again and stared into his eyes. She sighed. “I also know better than to argue with the likes of you. Be off with you. You know that I’m right. And why, tell me, the need for the mask?”</p><p>Erik shook his head as if to wake himself a little. He took a deep breath. “Why the mask? Terrible reasons, Madame. I hardly have a face at all!” He laughed to himself and stood up.</p><p>“The Italian disease?”</p><p>“No. I have looked this way from birth.”</p><p>“Ah, you poor thing. Your poor mother. You are unfortunate in many ways, if that mask is to be believed. But if you ever come back here again and ask for more of this, I will demand to see your face.”</p><p>He laughed at her and opened his eyes in mock, but also real, horror. “That is the type of threat I take very seriously. How much of this will you sell me?”</p><p>She got up to the counter and pushed several vials towards him. “That much. And no more. And I don’t want to see you here ever again. It’s time for you to stop.”</p><p>He paid her, put on his coat and gathered his things up and the morphine and thrust them all into his satchel. “You have been – unexpectedly kind - Madame. I am forever in your debt.” He gave her a little bow. What was he doing, playing with her like this? “You will never see me again, but I will remember you in my heart forever.” He put his hand to his chest, smiled at her stupidly and left the shop.</p><p>He wandered out into the street, precariously happy, and thought that perhaps he should try to find Nadir.</p>
<hr/><p>He found Nadir sometime later, sitting on a low wall near to their horses, eating bread.</p><p>“Where have you been?” Nadir looked him up and down. And then, “I see you found what you needed.” He seemed annoyed.</p><p>“How can you tell?” Erik sat down next to him and pulled a piece from the loaf that Nadir was eating.</p><p>Nadir laughed at him. “How can I tell? You change completely when you have taken an armful of it! You think I can’t tell?”</p><p>“I didn’t think I was any different – “</p><p>“You look like you could slide down a wall into a puddle of mud. Like you might possibly lie down here in the middle of the road, just for the fun of it. Even your hair is different.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Even your <em>eyes</em> are different – they are full of colour because the black bit – what is it called?”</p><p>“The iris – “</p><p>“The iris is so tiny.” He pulled on Erik’s shoulder to turn his face to him, to get a better look at his morphine-eyes. “They are quite lovely, really.”</p><p>“You really know how to flatter a man. Lovely eyes, indeed!” He shrugged out of Nadir’s grip.</p><p>They ate together in silence. Erik tried to behave in a way that didn’t betray his extreme sense of wellbeing. He didn’t know where to begin.</p><p>“I think you should know, Nadir, that I am going to stop taking morphine. Very soon. Maybe – maybe next week! I met a woman back there – she was very old, a <em>witch</em> perhaps, she told me I had to stop.”</p><p>“A witch? Where have you been? Are you alright? Are you dreaming?”</p><p>Erik laughed. “I’m sure she was a witch!”</p><p>“I tell you that you have to stop!”</p><p>“Oh yes, I know you do, but she made it sound <em>important</em>. You just sound like you like telling me off – “</p><p>“You listen to <em>a witch</em> over me?”</p><p>“There are plenty of reasons why I’d listen to a witch instead of you. Plenty!</p><p>“You know, it’s all going to be alright. After all. We shall leave here and find somewhere to rent this morning and I will be done with all of them. Henri <em>fucking</em> Guizot most of all.”</p><p>Nadir peered at him and knocked gently on Erik’s head with his fist. “Hello, hello – is this Erik, or is this morphine talking? I think I know! Witches!”</p><p>Erik frowned. “Well what do you suggest we do? We will find a place, you’ll see.”</p><p>“I think what I should do is stop going along blindly with the suggestions of a morphine-addled madman.”</p><p>Erik felt himself sag a little. “Do you have any suggestions? From your entirely sober brain? I thought not! You decide what to do if I am so incapable!”</p><p>Nadir smiled. “Unfortunately, Erik, your plans are the only ones we have. So, let us get on with it.” He got up and went to leave.</p><p>He felt the shame that was always simmering boil up and scald his heart. “I’m sorry – for all of this – I am sorry – “</p><p>Nadir turned back and looked around briefly. And then he lent towards Erik and picked up his right hand and kissed it, tenderly, slowly, and then said, “I forgot to say that following the plans of a morphine-addled madman was possibly the best thing I have ever done in my entire life.”</p>
<hr/><p>And so, they left Granville by the coast road going south, along the wild sand dunes that led down to the endless white beaches and the churning sea, the seabirds calling and circling high above their heads. At each of the villages they passed, they stopped in the shop to ask if there were houses nearby to rent for a while, and each time the answer was no – until they rounded the steep black cliffs at Carolles and over through the fields, and then descended back down into the little fishing village of St-Jean-le-Thomas, the bay there opening up with a view of the medieval citadel in the sea, Mont St Michel.</p><p>In St-Jean-le-Thomas they were told that there was an empty house to rent that was high up in the cliffs, not overlooked by anyone at all, surrounded by trees, fully furnished, its owners away on business and it was here that their long journey came to an end. And they could make the arrangements here, today and live there from this very evening. Erik felt full of triumph that his morphine-addled plans had come to fruition, and so perfectly and so easily. Victory over Nadir in this respect was very sweet, and he tried desperately not to crow about it. Naturally, he failed.</p><p>They spent the following five months there, waiting for the spring and then the summer to come to allow them to make their way back to Paris. But this was a precious time, so much more than simply waiting for the seasons to change. In later years, Erik would look back on this time with immense fondness, a time when he knew almost complete happiness. They were left entirely alone, apart from a woman who came a couple of times each week to clean and cook and take their laundry to the wash-house to be cleaned – they paid her well for her silence.</p><p>They spent the days in their bed together, or reading, or composing. Sometimes, at night, when it was warmer, they would swim in the sea. Nadir developed an intense desire to improve upon his written French and discovered several bookshops in the nearby town of Avranches that he visited regularly, bringing back with him armfuls of books each time he went. And Erik would allow himself down the nasty path of deciding that Nadir had a secret lover instead of a love of books and his outbursts of horrid jealousy were one of the few things to spoil their peace.</p><p>On occasions they talked about Erik’s past – his mother and Guizot mainly, and their effects upon him. Erik did not like doing this, but Nadir would insist saying that it was important that he also knew just how difficult things must have been for Erik when he was a child living with his mother, and also when he was Guizot, for the man was plainly a bully. His tactics to<em> train</em> Erik – as Erik put it – were often cruel and unnecessary and not at all deserved, as Erik had often thought they were when he was younger. Erik liked this idea. He began to free himself from the need to meet Guizot’s impossible demands and he began to hear Guizot’s berating voice in his head less and less. It was easier for Erik to break free of the damage imposed upon him in the fair. It was clear to anyone that a very great wrong had been done to him. But with Guizot, so much of their relationship had felt so close to love it was hard to tell where it crossed over into a very peculiar kind of evil.</p><p>Erik, for his part, rarely found any reason at all to leave the house and its surrounding gardens. When he did, it was to take his horse down to the long white beach at low tide in the very early morning and gallop it as fast he could make it go along the sand, often without the mask, for the sheer joy of riding a horse at speed with such freedom. And then he would walk back along the beach in his bare feet, trousers rolled up, shoes in hand, and collect the tiny shells that washed up every day and think perhaps that he would never ever go back to Paris but remain here with the sea and Nadir for the rest of his life.</p><p>Marthe somehow discovered where they were living, with what Erik believed to be her mysterious feminine wiles, and possibly the involvement of <em>witches</em>, but actually because she was a joyous and unrepentant gossip who had spies all the way along the coast, from Granville to Avranches. She wrote to them and suggested that they meet one day in a café in town, and gave her full assurance that Guizot had no knowledge of where they were living. Erik had no reason to disbelieve her, and rather liked the idea of meeting with her again, for he had fond memories of Marthe and the girls. They decided to invite Marthe and her daughters to their house, as Erik knew that he would be entirely too conspicuous to sit with them - like a normal man – in a café in the town. And they accepted their invitation and came for several times to take tea with them, and each time the three of them came it felt less bizarre and more friendly, and they vowed that on their return to Paris they would not lose touch. Erik was never entirely sure if Guizot knew of these little visits. He never wrote to Guizot again.</p><p>And then one day in early February, when the snowdrops started to blossom, but a little later than he had promised, for he was surely a coward, Erik announced that he had taken his last dose of morphine. Nadir had laughed at him in disbelief and Erik took an almost vindictive pleasure in proving him wrong by descending into a deep, week-long depression, that was, as the witch had said it would be, characterised primarily by endless shitting and vomiting. It was worse than that, of course, Erik would say later, worse than anything he had ever known. The despair and the dread combined with aches so deep he thought his bones would break, and the restlessness and the sleeplessness and the cold and the sweat and still the shit would not stop coming. Neither of them slept much at all that week and later Nadir told Erik that he wondered many times if Erik would give in and demand that he went and found morphine. And Nadir said that the fact that Erik had not done so, had not given in, made him love him even more.</p><p>And then Erik was better, the sun came out, and with it came a wild and unexpected passion for sex – in which Nadir was only too happy to indulge. Sex all the time, in all the rooms, in all the ways; noisy, hilarious, tender, <em>endless </em>sex.</p><p>Erik thanked the god he did not believe in for providing them with a house that was so secluded for now they became lovers of the most passionate, intimate kind. Erik had a lover that he worshipped and who seemed to worship him back, whose body he wanted to consume with mouth, have his cock consumed by in every orifice, who he wanted to taste and smell, and hear and see, and most of all <em>touch</em> in all the ways, with his fingers, his tongue, his entire body, all his senses finally alive and sated by this god of a man.</p><p>They had drowsy sex when they woke in the morning, fast, desperate sex when Nadir returned from wherever he went during the day, they had sex before they ate in the evening, they had sex when Erik was drunk which he liked a lot because it was then that he felt most uninhibited but also most the most useless (he liked that, too, being <em>taken</em> by Nadir in a way he had hated with Rafael), they had sex in the middle of the night, just because one of them found themselves awake and hard.</p><p>The spring became the summer and Erik, when he was not consumed by lust, remembered that his apartment in Paris was being held by M. Hervé for only six months – they had to be back there by June. And there was, as Nadir was careful to point out, the pressing problem of money and where they would get more from. And so they began to discuss their journey home with not a little sadness, primarily because there was the distinct possibility that having sex <em>all the fucking time</em> wouldn’t be possible in Erik’s thin walled, Parisian apartment.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The next thirty years, until the day Erik meets Christine and he discovers she gives zero fucks.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>While they were still living by the sea, Nadir forced Erik to write to Giradin to ask to resume his position at the practice. Erik did so, with great reluctance, his terrible writing barely legible.</p><p>He wasn’t sure if his reluctance was because he did not want to wake up to the reality of earning a living again, or simply because he absolutely hated writing. He behaved like an obstreperous child and tried to demand that Nadir write it on his behalf, but Nadir said he would refuse to <em>touch</em> him in any way until the letter was written which gave Erik a great incentive to get on with it.</p><p>When it was finally written, Erik leapt downstairs, brandishing his letter and pounced on an unsuspecting Nadir, bringing him to the ground with an embrace that felt a little like love and a lot like attempted murder, shouting, “never threaten not to touch me again, you evil bastard, otherwise I will chain myself to your ankles and never allow you a moments peace in your life!” And Nadir evidently liked this variation of foreplay, because they ended up having noisy, laughing sex right there on the living room floor. Nadir suggested afterwards that he would force Erik to write more letters if this was the outcome each time.</p><p>They travelled back to Paris in the early summer of 1853. On arriving at his apartment, Madame Hervé greeted Erik like a long-lost son and took him by the hand and led him to his room, flinging open the door, to show him that she had kept all the geraniums on the windowsills alive because she knew that he would return <em>very</em> soon. And then she reached up and pulled Nadir's head down, forcing him to almost bend double, so that she could kiss him three times on his cheeks, and <em>thanked him</em> – for reasons that Erik couldn’t make out amidst all the kissing - and he wondered to himself if the woman had finally lost her marbles.</p><p>And so, a few days later, Erik returned to the practice and was met by Giradin with a great peal of laughter, who declared that Erik was almost unrecognisable. Erik said this was a total nonsense, for he still wore a mask, and his long coat despite the warm weather, but Giradin insisted that everything about him had changed for the better; the way he stood, the fact he’d finally got his hair cut, that he was no longer so thin. Erik conceded that he had indeed been<em> ill</em> when they’d last seen each other and Giradin had laughed again said that “ill” was a very generous way to describe the state he was in. “Erik, my dear fellow, you were constantly on the verge of fainting, or crying, or killing someone – I would hardly describe that as ill. I would say it was more as if you were about to fall off a very great precipice, entirely of your own making.”</p><p>And to Erik’s annoyance, Giradin asked if he’d given up morphine; How did he know? How did everyone seem to know?</p><p>Rafael disappeared. Giradin told Erik that he had been charged with blackmail but that the police had been unable to locate him – they had called several times at the practice asking for any information about his or Erik’s whereabouts. Erik did not admit, not even to himself, what he most feared had happened to Rafael. But he knew that Rafael’s threats were the reason that a very great deal of good had happened in his life, things that would never have happened otherwise; he found freedom from Guizot, his father-tormentor; he visited his mother several times in the years before she died; he stayed in contact with Guizot's sister and her daughters, and with his newfound ability to seduce Nadir with his letter writing efforts, he willingly wrote to Giovanni and received several happy letters back from him before he died in 1864.</p><p>At great expense, using almost the last of their savings, Nadir arranged to have all the books that he had bought in Avranches transported back to Paris. He decided to change his name to ‘M. Gilani’ in a rather low-effort attempt to ensure that he was not associated with the angry M. Mazanderani but they heard nothing more from him, and Erik was not asked to have any input on the completion of the works.</p><p>Nadir decided to get a stall at the local flea market and took his collection of books there, where he began to establish himself as the buyer and seller of fascinating oriental and ancient books. He was an excellent salesman who seemed to love his customers, and they him. His enthusiasm and knowledge meant that by 1857, he was able to rent an entire shop in the Latin Quarter which became established with the students and the intellectuals in the area as a place to find rare and extraordinary second-hand books and as a rather nice place to meet, secretly and well-hidden amidst the packed and towering bookshelves. The shop front was painted a deep blue and called simply LIVRES. It had two big windows on either side of the entrance. On one window was painted: ACHAT VENTE and on the other: ESTIMATIONS ANCIENS. Erik always thought it was the most beautiful shop in all of Paris.</p><p>Erik worked closely with Giradin for the next eight years. His was one of the practices that was commissioned to execute the death and resurrection of Paris orchestrated by Haussman, a destruction that was so complete that it left most Parisians, including Erik, with a continuous sense of disorientation. Whole swathes of Paris became a building site. Madame Herve’s establishment grew increasingly chaotic and tumbledown, and in 1859, it was demolished. They moved into the little apartment on the third floor above Nadir’s shop, and most of the time it looked as if they were living in the bookshop itself, so filled was the place with stock. Even their bed was raised from the floor on piles and piles of books. Nadir had the good sense never to ask Erik to staff the shop, not even for half an hour in a dire emergency, knowing that if he did, he would surely have ruined the congenial reputation of the place within minutes. And it never once occurred to Erik to offer to help out at the place, even when it was busy and hectic. He would rather have stabbed himself in the eye with a pencil than work in a <em>shop</em>.</p><p>In 1861 he left Giradin’s practice to work with a certain M. Garnier on the design and construction of his new opera house. Erik was employed because of his knowledge of architectural engineering and he spent a good deal of time over the next year wading about in the sewers and the dirty river that they came across when the excavations were done in preparation for laying the foundations of the place. Erik would come back to their apartment stinking of sewage and stagnant water and at one point the work became so intense that he told Nadir he was considering living down there in order to get the job done properly. Nadir told him to stop being such an absurd fool for even thinking of such an idea. Garnier grew to rely on Erik’s abilities with engineering and he designed the internal workings of the Opera, the mechanisms for the scenery and the vast curtains and the structure and mechanisms of all of the lower floors, to ensure that large set pieces could be stored and transported about with ease.</p><p>For the most part, Erik managed to avoid the temptation of morphine. Both he and Nadir noticed that when he first stopped taking the stuff, especially when they returned to Paris, his natural introversion and distrust of others became quite extreme. It had apparently given him a confidence that he did not experience otherwise, and he often struggled with intense and long-lasting feelings of dread and melancholia that made it difficult for him to leave his bed, let alone leave their apartment.</p><p>Those times when he returned to the pull of the needle were shameful to him and he usually tried to keep it from Nadir for as long as he could. But Nadir was not a man to be deceived and he would bide his time, letting Erik believe that his habit had gone unnoticed, before asking quietly on one of their evening walks or late on a Sunday morning while they were still in bed, to explain precisely what was <em>going on.</em> And Erik would deny everything and obfuscate and then say it was only once or twice a week, or maybe five times, or possibly every day, twice a day, and then, “oh <em>fuck</em> <em>it</em>, Nadir; I like it too much.” And then he would continue with it for several weeks or even months before finally admitting (again) that being controlled in this way was no fun at all, and they would brace themselves for a week of misery while Erik stopped it all (again). He eventually decided that smoking cigarettes was a far more acceptable habit and he took to it with a great enthusiasm and devotion that was almost as great as his love of morphine.</p><p>In the early spring of 1870, Nadir left his bookshop in the care of a trusted manager and he and Erik made the long journey to Persia. They travelled to the south of France, to Marseille and from there by boat to Athens. From Athens they travelled across the sea to Lebanon, and from then across the land to Tehran and finally to Babol, where they stayed with Nadir’s extensive family for five months, and travelling about the place of his birth. The family treated Nadir’s odd friend with caution at first, but eventually came round to the idea that he was some kind of highly secretive musician-magician, because although he remained out of sight for much of the day – avoiding the heat of the place, or so he claimed – he would join them in the evenings after they’d eaten to sing with them and play the tar or on old violin they’d found in a market in Tehran, and astound them with mysterious card tricks and ability to make things <em>disappear</em> all while telling strange stories of the north.</p><p>They arrived back in Paris in late 1871, having travelled the very long way back on the roads west of the Caspian Sea and through Tbilisi, and moved into a small apartment overlooking the Tuileries Gardens on the rue de Rivoli. Erik did not return to the practice of architecture. He was in a fortunate position not to need to work in this way and in any case, he had been entirely spent in service of Garnier and his monstrous building. He turned to composition, his oldest love, long forgotten, on a piano hidden deep within their apartment, amongst the endless piles of dusty books and the drawings that still overflowed from the stockroom of Nadir’s shop. He sometimes entered his compositions into open competitions at the Conservatoires in Paris and Bordeaux but they did not win and frequently invited baffled criticism from the judges, for they were still living in an age when people could take succour and meaning from melody; the structure his works were difficult and often far from the established norms of harmony and rhythm.</p><p>It was only in 1920, after Europe had fallen apart and cannibalised its young, that a young music scholar named Hubert Clermont discovered Erik’s works. Their dissonance and yearning and chaos were hailed as a perfect response to the desperate spirit of the age. His music was republished and distributed throughout Europe and Russia and was considered by academics and composers to have had a great influence on expressionist music that was written in those years after the Great War. It spoke to a generation of people who knew what it was to have the world disintegrate and who knew the struggle to rebuild amidst the ashes of total devastation.</p><p>Nadir found Erik’s music to be a puzzle. It was so unlike anything they heard at the concerts and the opera that they frequently attended. One evening in about 1875, as they were strolling home along the gaslit streets, after a perfectly respectable performance of the works of Liszt and Chopin and then a long visit to a quiet and far less gaslit bar, Nadir had the temerity to ask Erik why <em>his</em> music couldn’t sound more like <em>theirs.</em> Erik had been stopped his tracks and standing in the middle of the street gave a rather loud and impassioned speech in his own defence:</p><p>“Does music have to be beautiful to be loved? Why does everyone want music that is so predictable? I could write it, of course I could, according to the conventional patterns of chord progression and you'd like it simply because it was what you thought you wanted to hear. What about music that doesn't do what you think it should do? That doesn't exist to please you? That is purely itself? Music that exists separately from standard human conventions – music that is not <em>beautiful</em>? Can you love that, Nadir?”</p><p>And they walked home in a deep silence that remained until they arrived in their apartment and Nadir took Erik in his arms and whispered, “always, always, always.”</p><p>He wrote his only opera, <em>The Sorrows</em> in 1877, after Goethe’s novel, a tragic litany to unrequited love. Nadir had asked why he chose such a subject given Erik himself had never known such a state of heart. Erik replied that he had every ability to imagine it, given what he knew of love - surely the greater the depth of love the greater the fear of its absence? He imagined the horror of a life lived without love would be a hellish vice around his heart.</p><p>He did not specify whether the parts were intended to be sung by men or women and so demanded a great vocal range from all performers. Erik had amused himself by writing the parts like this, almost as an act of aggression towards his potential performers – he himself had a vocal range of about five powerful octaves - if they couldn’t sing like him what right had they to call themselves singers at all? It remained undiscovered and unperformed until the late 1960s when a radical opera company in London chose to revive the work and it was received well with inevitable comparisons made with Massenet’s opera along the same lines. Erik’s was deemed far more sophisticated in terms of its musical inventiveness, despite its difficulty. No photographs of the composer were ever found, and it was difficult to discover his biographical details for the programme notes.</p><p>And so, one evening, in about 1882, they attended a production of Gounod’s <em>Faust</em>. It was said to be an interesting production and Erik was keen to see the latest reinterpretation of it. They had been able to reserve Box 4 for much of this season and Erik was very glad of this because it allowed him the space to sit back in the shadows and remove the mask. This evening, as usual, they arranged the chairs so that Erik sat with one long leg over Nadir’s lap, and Nadir lazily caressed his thigh, which sometimes made it rather hard to concentrate on the performance. They shared a bottle of wine and afterwards they walked arm in arm out into the bars where they parted company. Nadir was swallowed up in the jewelled colours of the swirling crowd for it was here on evenings like these that he could do most business, using his charm and easy charisma on everyone he met, to talk about, and later sell, the <em>remarkable</em> books he had in his possession.</p><p>Erik was happy to take himself to a quieter part of the place and lean against the wall and smoke a cigarette and vaguely observe the display of Paris’ finest as they passed him by. He was known here as having had something to do with the architecture and construction of the place, and as some sort of composer, and but primarily as the strange ‘friend’ of M. Gilani, and occasionally people would nod their acquaintance at him, but his taciturn nature and odd appearance did not invite their casual conversation and he was content that they left him alone.</p><p>He became aware that someone was watching him. He was used to this feeling, and by now very used to ignoring it. Erik remembered how deeply he had hated being stared at when he was younger – that he could tolerate it now he knew was a great testament to his maturity, and he allowed himself a moment of pride. He continued to smoke the cigarette, not looking at anything in particular. He had rolled several earlier this evening as a way of distracting his hands while he watched Nadir get dressed and he smiled now at the thought of him, standing there in the lamplight, half naked. But the feeling of being watched persisted. He looked up to his right and identified the source of the staring; a young blonde woman a few paces away facing him, hands clasped in front of her, fully appraising him, running her gaze up and down his entire body. When she saw that he’d noticed her, she smiled a little.</p><p>He stared back at her quite openly, enjoying the sight of her, looking her full in the eyes, absorbing her, allowing her full access to him. Not hiding. Their mutual gaze was not one of animosity, but of a shared interest in each other, gentle and teasing. He looked at her hair piled artfully up on her head, with some of it left down to coil down her graceful neck and around her shoulder. He looked at her décolletage, and her pearls, and the hint of her breasts rising from beneath her corset, her luminous skin, the green silk wrapped tightly around her fine waist. His interest in her was such that he felt entirely unselfconscious. She smiled again and then quite slowly she pointed at him and then at herself. He understood her to mean that she would like a cigarette, and so he nodded, and she walked over, shyly, as if her approach would be noted by others as being somehow not quite fitting.</p><p>She held his gaze as she approached him; her silk dress rustled as she moved. She stood much closer than women usually stood to him.</p><p>She held her out her hand and said, “Christine Daaé. It seems we have both been left to our own devices. We could get up to all sorts of mischief!”</p><p>He took her hand, his eyes widening in amusement. “Ah, Siebel! I thought I recognised you.”</p><p>“No, you didn’t – that’s just to excuse your staring!”</p><p>Erik was momentarily speechless, forgetting he still held her hand. “You – <em>you </em>were staring at me - ”</p><p>“Yes, and I think you liked it, just a little. Aren’t you going to tell me your name? I always see you here with that bookseller-man?” She took her hand from his and gave him a broad grin.</p><p>“You’ve seen me here before?”</p><p>“You’re not hard to miss!”</p><p>Erik shook his head a little. Who was this woman? “Oh.”</p><p>She laughed. “So, what is your name, <em>bookseller’s-friend</em>?”</p><p>“Erik. You would - ah – like a cigarette?”</p><p>“Oh, yes please, if you have one spare. <em>Raoul </em>– he doesn’t like it – but<em> he</em> is not here.” She smiled up at him again.</p><p>Erik stubbed his own cigarette out in the ashtray on the high windowsill next to where they stood. “<em>Raoul</em> has left you alone to be preyed on by strange men.” He reached into his pocket and took out the case. He opened it and offered it to her.</p><p>She took a cigarette. “I rather think it is I who is doing the preying – “</p><p>He took a match from the box and struck it, holding the flame out to her carefully. She leaned towards his hand, putting the tip of the cigarette in the flame, making it glow as she sucked, her face briefly illuminated. She looked holy in the light, despite her manner; the matchlight a votive candle.</p><p>“And yet you pray like a pilgrim at my hands.” he murmured, hardly believing he had the gall to say it.</p><p>She withdrew, tilted her chin up and exhaled.</p><p>“I am not your Juliet.” she said quietly, suddenly serious.</p><p>Erik threw the spent match into the ashtray. Where had this intensity sprung from?</p><p>He smiled at her. “You’re quite a <em>one</em>, aren’t you? Why are you not singing <em>Marguerite</em>? Do you have a singing professor?”</p><p>He put his backside and one foot up against the wall, and leant towards her somewhat like a large and curious bird. He folded his arms.</p><p>“I do not have a singing professor. And anyway, La Carlotta is not going to be dethroned any time soon. Certainly not by me; I am no Marguerite.” She took a long drag on her cigarette, seeming to enjoy it.</p><p>“That won’t help.”</p><p>She exhaled.</p><p>And then she said, “Oh, don’t be so boring, monsieur le docteur, you’re just like Raoul. Did you lead an entirely virtuous life when you were twenty-one?”</p><p>He couldn’t help but cough a laugh. “I was entirely <em>and utterly</em> virtuous.”</p><p>“I don’t believe you. Why do you wear a mask?”</p><p>He did not reply while he took his time to get another cigarette and lit it, and then took a long drag. He turned his away face from her as he exhaled.</p><p>“Why do you think?” he said, gently.</p><p>“You’re a Prussian spy!”</p><p>“Mmm. Because I am so inconspicuous. Why do you not have a singing professor?”</p><p>“I was at the Conservatoire for three <em>long</em> years. I do not want any more singing lessons.”</p><p>“That is a shame. You have a lot of potential.” The thought sprang to mind, wildly, of offering to teach her himself. He flattered himself with the idea that he could take this woman’s voice and transform it from something passable into something quite remarkable.</p><p>He thought of the glory of it.</p><p>She lifted her head and blew smoke high into the air. “I think that is what they all say, isn’t it?” She said in a low voice, “oh you are a wonderful singer, such potential; let me teach you!” and it’s all a big excuse to get you on your own with them. You weren’t going to suggest teaching <em>me </em>were you? Are you even a singer?”</p><p>She inhaled deeply of her cigarette, watching him closely.</p><p>Erik shrugged a little and laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”</p><p>Christine’s eyes widened in amusement. “You <em>were</em> going to offer to teach me! I didn’t think you were the type!”</p><p>Before he had a chance to reply, they were joined by a young man with light-brown hair.</p><p>Erik took his foot from the wall and stood up to his full height. He was relieved to find that he was taller than this man.</p><p>Christine did not have a chance to hide her cigarette. “Raoul! <em>You</em> came out of nowhere. This is Erik – the book-seller’s friend – Erik, this is my fiancée, the <em>Vicomte </em>Raoul de Chagny.“</p><p>Raoul looked hard at Christine, and then at Erik and gave a little bow. “Ah yes, Monsieur Gilani – is he here this evening? Ah - I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”</p><p>Raoul did not wait for Erik’s reply but turned to Christine with a smile. “I left you all alone and I return to find you smoking cigarettes with a <em>masked man</em>. Should I be jealous, Christine? When we are married – I shall have to keep a tight rein on you – “</p><p>“But now, Raoul, I am still free and I will smoke with whom I like – be jealous if you want to be!“ She flicked ash onto the floor.</p><p>“Will you come with me to talk with Madame Lirette – or will you stay with him?” Raoul looked Erik up and down with a kind of amused suspicion.</p><p>“I think I will stay here. We are discussing music and the art of singing. Madame Lirette is nothing but feathers and pomp. But <em>you</em> must do your duty.”</p><p>Raoul grasped her by her shoulders and moved her bodily to face him. He kissed her on the lips, remaining there a little too long and then walked away without another word to either of them. Was this some mannish display of possession?</p><p>Christine turned back to Erik and rolled her eyes.</p><p>Erik realised that he liked her immensely. “You are not my Juliet but are you his Shrew? To be tamed?”</p><p>His experience of women was very limited. Those that he did meet usually did their best to look away from him or, worse, remove themselves from his company completely. To be in the presence of a woman who seemed to like him and, rather thrillingly, want to<em> flirt</em> with him, felt surprisingly joyous. He wondered how strong the wine had been.</p><p>She laughed a little too loudly. “Never! We will have a very modern marriage - ”</p><p>“But you will be giving up the life of singing and music to be the wife of a Vicomte? With duties!”</p><p>“He offers me more than a life of singing and music ever could. My father – he was a violinist. We travelled all over Europe together, always on the move, always restless. I sang and he played. I am tired of it. I have sung so much for so many people. And I love him, Monsieur. Have <em>you</em> ever been in love? Are you married?” She seemed serious again, earnest even, with an exhaustion that was beyond her years.</p><p>Erik looked down at her. He spoke quietly. “I have been in love. But I am not the sort to marry.” He picked up the ash tray and held it out for her.</p><p>She took one last drag and then stubbed out her cigarette, and he did his, his lungs burning.</p><p>“Because of your face? Are you very ugly? Will you show me?”</p><p>“Yes. I mean – no. No!”</p><p>He laughed and shook his head. “Yes, Christine I am very ugly, it is a sad and tragic fact. I always have been, and I always will be. But no – it is not the reason I am not married. And I think you exceedingly rude of you to even ask to see my face! Who do you think you are?”</p><p>“Oh, you are very dramatic. What would happen if I saw your face? It can’t be <em>that bad.</em>”</p><p>Erik leant back against the wall and considered her. <em>What would happen</em>? He rarely looked at himself in the mirror, he never had done, but recently, when he dared to look, he had noticed that it got even worse with age. He thought of removing the mask this very instant and showing her. He imagined her face on seeing his. He heard her stifled scream, the hand thrown to her mouth in horror. He imagined her walking – no, <em>running</em> – away in terror. He realised he felt terribly sad that this moment of fun, that he thought he had been sharing with this beautiful, unusual woman, who he had mistakenly believed to be enjoying his company, had been reduced, yet again, to a prurient interest in his face.</p><p>He felt his neck redden with emotion and he looked beyond her, into the crowd in the next room. Where was Nadir? Why did he always take so long?</p><p>And then he looked back to Christine. “I think, Mademoiselle Daaé, that it is time for me to leave. It has been a – “</p><p>“Oh – I am very sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I – I was rude to ask, like that, about your face. I talk far too much; I say too many things – things that I regret the moment they leave my mouth. Please don’t leave – “</p><p>She reached out and grasped his left hand with her right, taking it to her breast. “Can I tell you a story?” Christine looked up at him, eyes wide. “My father, he liked to tell me about the Angel of Music. He told me that when he died, if I was very good, he would send the Angel of Music to watch over me. And I believed him! But he died and the Angel never came. I think it is because I am very wicked, Erik – saying all these things!”</p><p>He couldn’t help but laugh, his shame dissipating with her strange passion. Was she playing with him? The worldly woman of a few moments ago had gone and was replaced by a silly, half-haunted girl.</p><p>He took hold of her hand so that both of his hands were at her breast.</p><p>“I think you are quite mad. The Angel of Music? Who didn’t come to you because you are too wicked? What are you saying?”</p><p>Christine looked up at him, and took hold of his hands with both of hers, quite inappropriately, smirking a little. “Well, what do you think? If you were the Angel of Music, would <em>you</em> have come to me?” She was a fine actress.</p><p>“If I knew how rude you were going to be, quite possibly not.”</p><p>“So, there you are – I am too wicked for Angels! And you!” She pulled his hands up to her mouth and kissed him, before he could resist. “With my lips I pray for your forgiveness.”</p><p>And she let his hands go, pushing them away and he let them fall to his sides. He could not take his eyes from hers, and she returned his look as intensely.</p><p>He felt a ghost of something pass between them, an echo, an odd sadness that felt a little like lost love, very wonderful or very awful, a spirit, not quite seen, smoke through their fingers, a half-remembered dream. People were beginning to move past them from these fine rooms to make their way out onto dinner and the bars in the city outside, but Erik felt that he and her were quite apart from all that, for in this moment all that mattered was this strange girl, <em>this woman who had kissed him</em>, who seemed both profane and holy, a creature of high art and hay-strewn folk songs, at once terribly tired and alarmingly young. He knew her deeply and he did not know her at all.</p><p>Someone touched his right elbow and he flinched, and the spell was completely broken. They both looked away from each other to see Nadir and Raoul at their sides, watching them expectantly.</p><p>“I’m sorry to interrupt – “ Nadir said.</p><p>Erik took a moment too long to realise it was Nadir and <em>her</em> young man. He said, “Ah – hello – this is – “</p><p>Christine needed no introduction. She said, “Christine Daaé – and you are M. Gilani, the book-seller!” She held out her hand to Nadir.</p><p>He smiled at her, widely, taking her hand. “Yes – how good to meet you. Do you two – know each other?”</p><p>Christine back smiled at Nadir. “No – not at all!” She almost wiggled with delight.</p><p>“i could have sworn you knew each other – I’ve been watching you from over there – “</p><p>“You’ve been watching us?” Erik could hear the outrage in his voice.</p><p>“Yes – the <em>Vicomte de Chagny</em> here told me you were with his fiancée and I wanted to keep an eye on you and make sure you didn’t run off with her – “</p><p>“He almost <em>ran away</em> from me, Monsieur – I am far too wicked for him – “</p><p>Raoul put his arm around her waist. “Christine – please excuse her, I think she is very tired – Christine, it is late, I must see you home. Monsieur Gilani, er, Erik - good evening to you both – “ And he began to manoeuvre her away from them.</p><p>Christine stood her ground and there seemed to be a little struggle between her and Raoul. “Raoul, stop - please stop!” She gave an uncomfortable giggle. “Erik, I wanted to say – I wanted to say – Raoul, stop! I wanted to say - thank you – for <em>reminding me</em>.”</p><p>Erik gave her a little bow. “It has been a pleasure, Mademoiselle Daaé. I hope one day that we shall meet again.” He had no idea what he had reminded her of, only that now she said it, he had been reminded too. A dream of a memory, which faded as soon as it came to mind.</p><p>And with that, she was whisked away. They both watched them as they disappeared into the crowd.</p><p>Nadir turned to him. “What on earth was going there? With you two?”</p><p>Erik put his hands into his trouser pockets. “I really don’t know. She was quite – astonishing – “</p><p>“From over there, from where I was watching you both, it seemed as something quite extraordinary was happening. She was <em>kissing you</em>! What in God’s name did you say to her? I think you liked her, didn’t you?” Nadir laughed and tucked his arm into Erik’s, and they began to walk towards the grand staircase.</p><p>“Yes – I did – for a while.“ Erik pulled his arm in closer and looked at Nadir from the corner of his eye. He felt a rush of love for this tender, patient man, who had given him his life over and over so many times, through all the circling years. Where would he be without him?</p><p>“I think, had circumstances been different, you and she might have had a very different story.”</p><p>Erik laughed, “<em>exceptionally different</em>.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello. </p><p>Big thank you if you've had the patience to read this as I've written it, and for all your incredible comments so far. I really appreciate every one of them. I'd love to hear what you thought of it now it's finished.</p>
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